


SVS-15: Carefully Taught

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Series: The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new hate group on campus, and it threatens to come between Blair and the two things he loves most; Jim and teaching.<br/>This story is a sequel to SVS-14: Stoddard's Protege.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SVS-15: Carefully Taught

**Author's Note:**

> Episodes of SVS may contain depictions of consensual m/m sex. These depictions may or may not be accompanied by specific mention of items necessary for safe and healthy intercourse. It is the intention of FiveSenses, Inc. and all SVS authors that, even when such items are not explicitly mentioned, their use is to be assumed as a matter of course. All of us at FiveSenses, Inc. are aware of the risks of unprotected sex in today's world and strongly advocate the practice of safe sex, including the use of condoms and other protective devices.

## SVS-15: Carefully Taught

by MrsHamill

Author's webpage: <http://www.squidge.org/5Senses/>

Author's disclaimer: This story is an episode of The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season (SVS), produced by FiveSenses, Inc. SVS is based on characters and concepts developed by, and belonging to, Pet Fly Productions. This story is intended for private, personal enjoyment only. No money is being made, or will be allowed to be made, by the author of this story or by FiveSenses, Inc. from the writing and distribution of this story. Any original characters introduced in an SVS episode belongs to the episode author and to FiveSenses, Inc. and hsould not be used without their permission.

* * *

Author's e-mail address: thamill@cox.rr.com 

Author's webpage: <http://www.squidge.org/~foxsden>

had lays! Acknowledgements (not necessarily thanks...<g>) need to go to Fox, for her usual thorough beta and the title (which is based on the seldom-performed song of the same name from South Pacific; Poledra, for helping and putting up with me when I waffled about the classes situation; Zerena for answering the call above and beyond and spraining her dictionary in the process; Aly for being a cheerleader; Christi for being a pain in the ass and WoD for being a moving target to practice on. This is not a particularly happy fic--some of the dialog may make you wince and feel sick to your stomach, so caveat lector. But Jim (especially) was insistent it stay in. _sigh_ I need a 12-step program to tame my muses! 

Warning: Violence and foul language (and then some) 

Carefully Taught  
by MrsHamill 

* * *

Rain pattered gently against the skylight of the loft apartment at 852 Prospect, and the morning light permeated the place with a gentle, dim glow. The two men in bed on the upper level lay entangled in the sheets and blankets -- the smaller with his face buried in his pillow, the larger on his side with one arm wrapped possessively around his lover. Aside from the rain, some snuffling and gentle snores, the apartment was silent. 

The phone rang. Even though the ringer was set very low, Jim Ellison heard it and jerked partially awake, lifting his head from his pillow but not opening his eyes. By the third ring, he had grabbed the cordless phone from the nightstand, turned it on, and let his head fall back to the bed as he answered. 

"Ellison." Next to him, Blair Sandburg moaned softly into his pillow, pulling the sheet and blankets up as far as they would go over his head. "Oh, yeah, g'morning, Dr. Stoddard. How are you?" At the name, Blair lifted his head enough so that one bleary eye peered out of his cocoon. "No, that's okay, we had a stake-out last night and we're off today. No problem... Yeah, he's here. Just a minute." 

Sighing, Blair managed to extricate one arm and took the proffered phone. Rolling over, he snuggled himself into Jim as he spoke. "Eli? Hi, what's up?" 

Jim smiled and tucked Blair to him, letting his head fall onto the soft hair of his companion. Pressed so closely together, even had he not been a Sentinel, he would have been able to hear both ends of the conversation. 

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Blair, but I really need to see you," Stoddard said. 

"Um, sure, when? You mean today?" Still sleep-fuddled, Blair pressed his back firmly against Jim's warm chest, and, still smiling, Jim closed his eyes. 

"As soon as you can get here, actually. Could you make it to my office within an hour or so? I have to run over to Lin's office, but I'll be back by then." 

"Uh, yeah, I guess, what's going on, Eli?" 

Stoddard sighed. "A family crisis, Blair. I need to leave town, and I need... I'm hoping you can cover for me." 

Blair stiffened under Jim's arm, and Jim opened his eyes, suddenly taken with an amorphous dread. "You mean... teach? Take over your classes?" 

"Yes, and I don't know for how long, and... oh, there's too much to talk about over the phone. Can you come down to campus?" In the background, Blair heard another line ring. 

Blair's heart rate was accelerating, and Jim could tell he was almost vibrating. "You got it, Eli. I'll be there as soon as I can." 

"Thank you, Blair. I really appreciate it." 

Turning the phone off, Blair lay still within Jim's arms, his heart thumping. "Chief?" Jim asked softly, nuzzling into his hair. "You okay?" 

"I've got to get down to campus, Jim," Blair responded, still not moving. 

"So I heard." Glancing at the clock, Jim grimaced. "Well, at least we got close to seven hours of sleep..." 

"Would have been longer had you not insisted on nailing me to the mattress last night, Detective," Blair teased. "You can stay in bed if you want, though," he added. 

"Tell you what," Jim said, gently running his hand up and down Blair's side. "Let's catch a quick shower and I'll drive you down to campus. Then we can get breakfast at Campus Cookery, maybe?" 

Jim's slightly wistful tone made Blair calm slightly and laugh. He rolled over, finally looking his lover in the eye. Jim drew in his breath at the sparkle revealed in the deep blue eyes, a sparkle which had been missing since Blair had stopped teaching. "Been a while, eh, Jim? Sure. Sounds good to me." 

Leaning forward, Jim caught Blair's lips in a heart-stoppingly tender kiss before the younger man could move. There was really nothing sexual in the kiss; caressing Blair's lips with his own, Jim tried to convey all his love and happiness by that means, as well as his own contentment in their relationship. When the kiss gently ended, Blair opened dazed eyes and blinked. 

"Wow," he whispered. "What was that for?" 

Jim felt a smile spread over his features, and watched Blair's face copy it. "Just... good morning." 

* * *

As was usual mid-semester, there was no place to park near Hargrove Hall. Jim drove up the circle and pulled in front of the steps, mindful of the students perpetually milling about and the drizzle still falling. "I'll meet you at the Cookery," Blair said. "Get us a good booth, okay?" 

"You got it, Chief," Jim responded, still smiling. "Say hi to Dr. Stoddard for me." 

"Will do!" Hopping out of the truck and slinging his ragged backpack over his head to avoid the rain, Blair dashed into the hall, hearing the truck drive slowly away behind him. 

Hargrove always felt like home to Blair, almost as much as the loft did. The hallways were crammed with undergrads, and the echoes from lecture halls rang throughout the building. He moved quickly down the hallway toward his old office -- now a storeroom next to Stoddard's new one -- smiling when he saw the standard-issue frosted glass pane in the door. Once, there had been a spectacular etching of a wolf there. He knew where that beautifully-etched glass resided now. 

The door to his advisor's office stood open, and from the hallway Blair could hear muted curses and paper rustling. Entering quickly, Blair almost collided with Bob Gemmell, Stoddard's protege. Stoddard stood at his desk surrounded by mounds of precariously stacked paper, muttering and searching, while Bob tried to re-file and re-stack whatever Stoddard had gone through. They both looked up as Blair knocked on the door frame, both with relieved expressions -- although probably for different reasons. 

"Blair, my boy! Thank you for being so quick," Stoddard said, waving him in. "I'm sorry about the mess, but this whole crisis has rather knocked me for a loop." 

"Crisis, Eli?" Blair asked, dropping his backpack. Automatically he moved to help Bob -- who flashed Blair an amused, knowing smile and made room for him at the disaster of a desk. 

Rubbing his forehead and nodding his thanks to both his helpers, Stoddard collapsed in his chair. Then he immediately stood and pulled something out from under himself... his passport, which he looked at curiously. "Now, how did that get there?" he muttered, tucking it into his breast pocket. "Yes, it's Lesley's family. We have to go to Scotland right away, and I have no idea how long I'll be gone." 

"Lesley's family?" Blair said, briskly examining and re-stacking the blizzard of paper, bluebooks and lesson plans as he spoke. "I thought she didn't have any family left?" Deftly, Bob moved a pile of paper from the desktop to a credenza, sorting it into already established piles. 

"Well, no, her parents are dead, and there's no one left on her mother's side. But there're grandparents and a few cousins or somesuch on her father's side that her mother kept in touch with over the years before her death. So Lesley's _met_ her grandparents -- visited them a few years ago -- but mostly the contact has been one or two letters a year since they're all in Britain. And now, her grandfather has taken ill. Thank you, Bob, you're such a help to me. Blair, could you hand me that folder over there?" 

Doing so, Blair then continued his re-ordering of the papers on the desk, passing some to Bob. "I hope it's not serious...?" 

"Actually, it probably is." Stoddard frowned at the papers within the folder. "We got a call this morning, and from what I could hear, I think it may be terminal. Lez isn't all that close to them, but they are her last living relatives, and of course she wants to be there." 

"Naturally," Blair murmured, having recently been in that situation himself. 

"I spoke with the Chancellor this morning, and I've been given emergency leave, but as you know, I've got three courses and a seminar I'm teaching this semester, and I need someone to cover for me. Before I could even make a suggestion of a sub, Lin told me to ask you." He grinned tiredly at the young man's start of surprise. "She likes you, Blair. You have a staunch ally there. I'd cultivate it if I were you." 

Taken aback, Blair merely blinked. "Anyway," Stoddard continued brusquely, "I know you can teach Anthro 101 and 102 in your sleep, and I follow your old lesson plans anyway. 101 is Monday and Wednesday at ten, and 102 is Tuesday and Thursday at ten. I've kept 202 to a Monday-Wednesday-Friday at 2:00 p.m. schedule. My graduate seminar meets Monday evening at seven... all I've done is assign them papers so far. It's all in the course plans, which are... ah. There you are," he smiled, as Bob handed Blair a folder. "Everything should be up-to-date -- I hope anyway. But they're mostly pretty good kids, they'll be easy to catch up to. And the seminar notes are all in this binder." He put a two-inch-thick binder into Blair's arms, on top of the folder. "All right?" 

"Uh... yeah. Sure, Eli," Blair stammered, adjusting his hold on the papers in his hands and ignoring Bob's wide grin at his discomfiture. He hadn't quite realized how much of his excitement at the thought of teaching again was pure, unadulterated fear. Hoo-boy. Back on the merry-go-round. 

"Good. I canceled class this afternoon -- you'll have a class tomorrow and Friday, then the weekend to catch up. Lesley just e-mailed me that she's got our travel plans, and I'll e-mail all of that to you this afternoon, along with numbers and all that. We're leaving tonight. Her grandparents live about an hour north of Glasgow, a place called Arrowchun or Arrocher, something like that, it's right on Loch Long. I'll make sure to give you the phone numbers. Lin will have them too, and Bob, of course, he's going to stay and housesit for us while we're gone, and I'll have my laptop, so I should have e-mail, if you need anything at all." 

Still slightly stunned, Blair nodded quickly, processing for all he was worth. "Good, great. Okay, Eli, I think I've got it. I won't let you down." 

Smiling tiredly, Stoddard said, "Oh, I know you won't, Blair. I'm just glad I could count on you." His smile suddenly became a grin, which he shared with Bob. "I just hope your Jim won't be too angry with me for taking you away from him." 

Laughing, Blair blushed slightly. "Oh, don't worry about it, Eli. I juggled classes and police work before, I can do it again." 

Reaching across the desk, Stoddard clasped Blair's shoulder firmly. "I don't doubt it, Blair, I never have. Thank you, son. Lesley and I really appreciate it." Giving Blair a little shake, Stoddard released Blair's shoulder, picked up his laptop and his briefcase and slung his raincoat over one arm. "Feel free to use my office too, if you need to. But I've got to get going..." He looked around in despair. "Oh, dear... what did I do with my passport?" 

Bob and Blair exchanged looks and laughed. 

* * *

Jim had discovered the little mom-and-pop restaurant called Campus Cookery while Blair was still teaching at the University. Situated just across the street from the bursar's office, it was frequented by students and staff from the U, as well as residents of the campus neighborhood and anyone else who discovered it. It was a very small place; there was usually a wait for a table to eat at, or even for a space at the coffee bar. The food was excellent, inexpensive, and personalized, which made it a wonderful place for a Sentinel to eat. 

Because it was too late for the normal breakfast crowd and too early for the lunch-eaters, the wait wasn't as bad as normal. By the time a booth became free, Jim could see Blair on his way from the campus. The drizzle had let up some, but it was still a wet, cool day -- when Blair slid into his seat, his hair was beaded with water. He shook his head like a dog, spraying water on a laughingly protesting Jim, who noticed the famous, trademarked Sandburg Smile was firmly in place. 

"Hey, Blair! Long time no see!" a female voice, their waitress, hailed him. 

Blair looked up, then bounced back out of his seat to give the woman a hug. "Meredith! My God, it has been a while! It's so good to see you! Jim, you remember Meredith, don't you?" 

As Blair sat back down, Jim racked his brains to place the pretty young woman. "Sure," he said, shaking her hand and lying through his teeth, "nice to see you again." 

She gave him a look that said she not only knew he didn't remember her, but it didn't bother her in the least. "So what can I get you two? Coffee? Juice?" She handed them Xeroxed menus and waited. 

"Um... coffee, Meredith, and OJ for me. Jim? Papaya for you?" 

"Yeah, sounds great, and coffee for me too. Thanks." The waitress walked away and Jim turned back to Blair, an incredulous expression on his face. "Chief," he said, "tell me the truth. Do you actually know _every_ female in Cascade?" 

Blair laughed. "Hmmm... let me think about that," he replied, making a show of intense concentration, one forefinger to his lips. "Um... yep." 

It was Jim's turn to laugh. "So what did Stoddard want?" he asked, looking at the menu. 

"He's got to go out of the country, a family emergency," Blair said, bouncing in his seat as he skimmed the menu. "He wants me to cover his classes, Anthro 101, 102 and 202, and a senior seminar. Doesn't know how long he'll be gone." 

"And of course, you said no, right?" Jim teased, the odd anxiety he felt earlier growing. 

Blair glared at him over the top of the menu. "Laugh it up, monkey boy. He's my advisor, the man who will make or break my dissertation. What do you _think_ I said?" 

"Oh, and the fact that you love teaching had nothing to do with it," Jim said sourly. He felt immediately guilty for his surliness as he watched his lover's face fall and those sparkling blue eyes dim. 

"Ah, don't, Jim, don't... it's not like that..." Blair muttered, swallowing. 

Jim sighed. "Oh, shit, Chief, stop. I know..." 

"You boys ready to order?" The waitress -- Meredith -- was back with their coffee and juice, looking expectant. Jim hastily turned his attention back to his menu, promising himself they would talk later. 

"Oh, they still have that ploughman's omelet," he said softly. "I know what _I_ want..." 

"With Eggbeaters," Blair interjected, shooting Jim a mock-glare over his menu. 

"Oh, come on, Chief. What's the harm..." 

"Cholesterol, old man," Blair interrupted, "cholesterol. As in yours. As in it's too high." 

"I don't like Eggbeaters." 

"Tough. You eat too many eggs as it is. And they taste just the same." 

"Not to me! And besides, who appointed you my mother?" 

"Since I'm the only one who will nag you about this -- !" 

The waitress had been following the conversation back and forth, a widening smile on her face. Finally, she held up her hands in a 'time out' gesture. "Whoa, boys, hold up there! You two are worse than some of the old marrieds I get in here!" 

Jim and Blair grinned at each other, and Jim sighed in relief that the bounce was back in the younger man. Whatever was causing his nervousness, it was unfair to let it affect Blair. "Tell you what," the waitress continued. "A compromise. Blueberry pancakes, with _real_ fresh blueberries \--" she looked at Jim, then turned to Blair -- "made with Eggbeaters. Short stack for each of you, and I can get my hands on some _real_ maple syrup. Deal?" 

Handing his menu decisively to the waitress, Blair said, "I am down with that." 

"I guess I am too then. Thanks," Jim added, handing his menu back as well. She walked away, still chuckling, and Jim turned back to Blair. "You take such good care of me, sweetie," he said, the sugary sweet tone not hiding the laughter in his voice. Blair shook a finger at him... the middle one. 

"Get bent, Ellison," he laughed. "And somebody's gotta do it. God knows you don't take care of yourself!" They grinned into each others' eyes for a few moments, until Blair looked down, swallowing back his smile. "You know, it's, uh, going to be hard for me to do that, I mean, take care of you, while I'm doing these classes. Maybe I should have just told Eli..." 

"Blair, stop it. Right now," Jim said insistently. He would not allow his feelings to get in the way of his lover's happiness. He would _not_. "I know how much teaching means to you." Desperately Jim wished he could reach across the table and take his lover's hand, but knew he had to settle for leaning his leg against the other man's under the table. "I -- I can't say I won't miss my partner being there to watch my back \--" he forced a smile as Blair looked up -- "but I also know you need to do this. And it's not like you'll be gone all the time, after all. And you're a good teacher, Blair. It's what you love most." 

"No, man," Blair said softly. "You got that backwards. *You're* what I love most. But thank you." 

They grinned stupidly at each other until Meredith brought them their pancakes. 

* * *

The lecture hall was mostly filled with students when Blair got to the Thursday morning class, and the noise spilled out into the hallway. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and strode into the room, plopping his backpack on the chair next to the lectern. He let the room quiet naturally as he dug for his notes and glasses; by the time he faced the class, most everyone was in a seat. 

"Good morning," he said brightly. "And no, I'm not Dr. Stoddard, as you may have noticed." He heard titters and he smiled. "I'm Blair Sandburg; Dr. Stoddard was called out of town on a family emergency and he's asked me to fill in. I've got his notes and in fact he's using my old lesson plans, so we should have no problem. 

"A couple of administrative things," he added, turning and quickly writing on the blackboard. "Here's my cell phone number and e-mail address. I'll be keeping Dr. Stoddard's office hours, in his office, so if you need anything, please come by." Dropping the chalk into the tray, he turned, briskly wiping his hands. "All righty, then. Any questions?" 

A boy near the back, dressed in ripped jeans and a black muscle T-shirt, raised his hand from where he sprawled across three seats. Blair frowned slightly and nodded to him. "Yes, Mr. ...?" he said. 

"You're that guy that was on TV last year, aren't you?" the young man drawled, not giving his name. Several heads turned towards him as he spoke, then back to Blair. 

Blair fought down a jolt of panic; he had prepared for this, he was ready for this, he could handle this. Taking a deep breath, and meeting the young man's eyes from across the hall, he answered, "I've been on TV before, yes. If you have a specific question about that or anything else that *doesn't* involve this class directly, you may come see me during office hours. Now. You should all have done the reading that Dr. Stoddard assigned..." 

Class moved along briskly after that, even if Blair looked up from writing on the blackboard to find that Mr. Muscle-Shirt had left the room. Shrugging mentally to himself, he kept teaching. 

By the end of the hour period, Blair had sparked several arguments amongst the students, which at one point became almost heated. Realizing they were out of time, he laughingly called for a time out. "Hang on, hang on," he overrode one student who was intent on making her point. "You can't simply declaim without data to back you up," he explained, grinning at the girl, who finally relaxed and grinned back. "Not that I disagree with you," he added, "but you've got to tell me _why_ you're thinking that way. 

"To that end," he said, louder, addressing the entire class again, "the reading assigned for this week should help you all with this question. So let's table it, and we'll pick it up again on Tuesday. Have a great weekend, everybody, oh! There's a special on TLC, Saturday night at nine, on the Aboriginal tribes of Australia and their court battles over their stolen children. Extra points to whoever watches it instead of partying!" 

To laughter and calls of "How _many_ points?" Blair straightened his notes and re-packed his backpack. As he was quickly erasing the blackboard, one of his students approached. "Mr. Sandburg?" he heard a soft voice call him. 

The girl he faced, as he turned, was very pretty and quite young, clearly in her first or second year at school, and was pierced _everywhere_. Blair had never had a problem with body piercings -- after all, holes closed up while tattoos were forever -- but even he blanched at the thought of a pierced tongue. He spared a brief moment to wonder where else she might be pierced under her mini-skirt, then smiled. 

"You're going to have to tell me your name," he said. "I haven't had a lot of time to study the roster." 

"Oh, that's okay, I'm Reese. Reese Cooper? My sister's name is Jan." 

Blair blinked at her for a moment, then the penny dropped. "Reese! You're Jan's little sister Teresa! Last time I saw you, you were in high school!" 

Flushing, pleased to be remembered, the girl bobbed her head. "Yep. I'm in my second year here now. I'm like majoring in sociology." 

"Good for you, Reese, that's great." Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, Blair indicated she should precede him out of the room. "How's Jan doing? I haven't seen her in ages." 

"She's teaching," the girl answered, walking out the door with him and heading down the hall towards Dr. Stoddard's office. "She got this job? At UC/SD. She's on the tenure track. She, uh, asks about you, like, how you're doing and stuff." 

"She does?" Blair blinked, a bit surprised; they had moved on from dating a long time ago. "Well. Uh... go ahead and give her my e-mail address then, I'd love to talk to her. See how she's doing." 

A familiar form was bulking large in the doorway to Stoddard's office, and Blair smiled. "Hey, Jim, I'm coming," he called, and Jim raised his hand. 

"Who's that?" Reese asked, frowning. 

"Oh, that's my partner, Jim Ellison. I'm doing some consulting work for the police department as part of my dissertation. I mean... my new diss." Blair's voice faltered but Reese looked at him sympathetically. 

"Nobody really believed all that stuff at the press conference," she confided, leaning in towards him. "We all figured, you know, like you had just been screwed over somehow. I mean, like the U is doing that to us all the time anyway, you know?" 

Blair quirked a smile at her. "Oh. Well, thanks, Reese." Meeting up with his partner, he said, "Reese, this is Jim Ellison, my partner. Jim, this is Reese Cooper, she's the little sister of -- an old friend." 

Jim, his face holding that smile he reserved for babies, young children and very old folks, shook the girl's hand. She blushed, but her apparent shyness didn't keep her from giving the big man the once-over. "Nice to meet you, Reese," he said, then turned back to Blair. "C'mon, Chief, if we're going to eat anything at all it has to be now. The ADA expects us by one." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, hang on, let me drop this roster off on Eli's desk." Doing so, he closed the door behind him. "It was great seeing you again, Reese, and I'm glad I'll be teaching you... if only for a little while." 

"Thanks, Mr. Sandburg," she answered. "I'll make sure I get Jan your e-mail address. Bye!" Turning, she sashayed down the hall, to the appreciation of every man in sight. Jim and Blair turned towards each other, each noticing the other's appreciative ogling, and laughed. 

"Wonder where else she might have a hole, Chief?" Jim asked, teasingly. 

His partner colored and snickered. "Oh, man, do _not_ go there!" he replied. "Can you say, 'University Code of Conduct?' Let's go. I'm starving." 

* * *

Blair found it incredibly easy to slip back into the teaching groove, finding it made for a refreshing change -- especially since it would be temporary. Simon, of course, didn't appear to be quite so content at the thought of losing one half of his best team for several hours a day, but Blair told Jim he could tell Simon was just yanking his chain. Jim agreed sourly; Simon was happy Blair was happy, and Jim couldn't figure out why he wasn't just as happy for his partner. The partner who, he discovered, would be gone teaching _every_ day -- and on Mondays and Wednesdays, _all_ day. 

The Friday class, which was Anthropology 202 (Cultural Benchmarks), consisted mainly of higher level students who had already declared majors; most of them were anthropology, but some were sociology and some in the psych program. The meeting was raucous and stimulating, Blair told Jim that evening on their way home. Jim smiled briefly at Blair's enthusiasm, but concentrated on the scent and feel of his partner, which had been denied him most of the day. As soon as they were through the door to the loft, Jim pulled Blair into a long, intense hug; when Blair finally, gently pushed him away, Jim went reluctantly. Blair's curious look merely earned him a kiss and a request for dinner. 

Jim worked Saturday, since he had been off Wednesday, and normally Blair would have been right with him -- interviewing witnesses unavailable during the week, helping with paperwork, getting caught up. But Blair begged off this time, wanting to concentrate on prep work for the classes. Jim reassured him that it was fine, but he knew he was lying to himself as well as Blair. He missed having Blair with him. He finally cut the day short and went home, not having accomplished much. 

The rest of the weekend, Blair hummed and puttered, putting together class notes and outlining lectures in between their usual chores. Jim watched him carefully, on one hand delighted at his partner's mood, on the other still feeling that vague unease and discontent. When he tried to capture why on earth he should feel nervous or upset about Blair teaching again, it would slip through his fingers like water. 

By late Sunday night, both the lack of understanding and the discontent itself were beginning to irritate him. There was _no_ reason why he should feel anything but pleasure at Blair's happiness, and teaching made Blair happy. Even if it took him away from Jim. Which it did. Jim lay on his back on their bed, waiting for his lover in the dim light, his arms behind his head and a frown on his face as he puzzled it over. He was concentrating so strongly he didn't hear Blair come up the stairs, and jerked in surprise at a tickle on his ribs. 

"You were thinking mighty hard there, bwana," Blair said, grinning impishly from his place on the bed next to him. "I could actually see the smoke coming from your ears. Wanna share?" 

Jim studied Blair for a moment, examining the beloved features in the low light of the bedside lamps. Inhaling deeply, he smelled and tasted the scent of Blair, the scent of home, of love, to him; instantly, he was hard enough to pound nails. Moving quickly, he pushed himself up and over, pinning the smaller man to the bed, making him laugh. "Fuck that," he growled, then added softly, "because I'd rather fuck you." He dove in for a deep kiss that left both of them breathless. 

"Damn, Ellison," Blair murmured, his eyes glazed. "Have I told you lately you're a terrific kisser?" 

"No," Jim replied, a bit glazed himself, "and I don't want you saying anything coherent anyway." 

"I can do that," Blair managed to get out before Jim proceeded to shut him up in a most satisfying way, kissing down his body and abruptly swallowing his erection. Of course, that produced sounds, but none of them were, in fact, coherent. Efficiently bringing Blair to a sudden, gasping climax, Jim swallowed his come, and made a long arm to the bedside table where they kept their supplies. Not waiting a moment, he rolled on a condom, lubed himself up, gently but quickly prepared the sated lump of skin and bones Blair had become, and entered him in one smooth thrust. Blair's eyes rolled back into his head as he breathlessly keened his pleasure, locking his legs loosely around Jim's neck. 

Looking down on the man he was vigorously loving with his whole self, Jim felt a burst of intense emotions tear through him; he felt awash with fear, love, panic, yearning ,terror, hope, anguish -- and other feelings, for which he had no name. The extreme combination took control of him and abruptly threw him over the edge into a screaming, unbelievably fierce orgasm. He blacked out. 

When he came to, he was lying half-on and half-off Blair, who was stroking his head and neck. "Welcome back," the younger man said softly, looking with concern into Jim's eyes. 

"Uh.... " Jim said, articulately. "I... blacked out?" Blair nodded. "Oh God, I didn't hurt you, did I, babe?" 

"No, no, you didn't," Blair hastened to assure him. "Though I'm glad I do yoga. But you scared me a bit. What's wrong, Jim? You've been acting odd all weekend." 

_Surprised that you noticed_ , Jim thought sadly as he closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the solid, hairy strength of Blair's chest. Beneath his ear, he could hear the steady thrum of the heart that anchored him into his world, the heart he felt he could probably hear halfway across town. Across the state. 

"I -- I don't know," he finally murmured, not looking up. "It's probably nothing. Just me being weird again." 

"Well at least you admit it," Blair said softly, a hint of teasing in his voice. "Will... will you tell me if, or when, you figure it out?" 

Wincing at the quiet plea in that voice, Jim sighed. "I know we've never talked about what happened with that crazy bitch," he said, "or about what happened up in Canada. And I'm sorry about that; we should, I guess." 

"We don't have to," Blair insisted gently, quickly. "I know how hard it is for you to discuss your feelings. And I screwed up badly." 

Thinking back to that moment when he had realized that Blair was no longer in the hospital, Jim had to agree. Aloud, he said, "No, no, we should talk. And you didn't screw up. I did. Well, okay," Jim conceded, taking in Blair's skeptical look, "we both did. I let my insecurity and fears get in the way of us." _As usual_ , he added silently. Could that be what's happening now, Jim wondered? "So, we'll talk about it. Just..." Pushing himself gently off his body pillow, Jim raised himself on his elbows and smiled down at Blair. "Just not tonight, I guess. I _do_ trust you, Blair," he finished earnestly, pushing a curly lock of hair off the other man's forehead. 

Capturing the hand that lingered over his face, Blair brought it to his mouth and kissed it. "That's nice to know," he said, his voice a bit choked. 

"I should tell you more often, shouldn't I?" 

"It... couldn't hurt." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Go to sleep, Jim. Things'll look better in the morning." 

Jim nodded. "Will you be in tomorrow?" 

"I'd come in with you, but I have a ten o'clock class, and I'll need a ride to the university anyway, so I guess not. I'm sorry. Is that okay?" 

"Of course it is." *Of course it's not*, something inside Jim echoed. He firmly pushed it away and locked it behind a door -- along with the other voice that was demanding he live up to his promise and _talk_ to Blair. 

"I love you." 

"I love you too." 

The two men slept. 

* * *

Monday turned into the kind of day that Mondays always seemed to be; laden with paperwork, busy work, backed-up work, and just plain work. Jim, after reluctantly dropping off Blair at the University, waded through the paper that had piled up -- it must breed overnight, he thought sullenly \-- in both his and Blair's in-boxes, stoically and efficiently clearing it out one sheet at a time. Cases were transferred in and out of Major Crime, some Jim's and some not, and Simon spent a frustrating time hurrying up and waiting, as he put it. 

Midmorning, while Simon and Jim were meticulously going over an investigation into a series of murders that might have been connected to a drug lord, Rhonda stuck her head into the office. "Jim, I hate to interrupt, but there's a call for you on line three... it's Rainier. The Chancellor?" 

Jim and Simon blinked at each other, and Jim's automatic response was to think of Blair. Simon thanked Rhonda and held his phone out to Jim. 

"Ellison." 

"Detective Ellison. I'm sorry to have bothered you; this is Chancellor Konoe." 

"Uh, yes ma'am. And no, it's no bother. Is this about Blair? Is he all right?" 

Konoe drew in a breath, and across the phone line Jim could hear her heart rate speeding up. "Oh, no, no... everything's fine. I'm sorry if I worried you. Actually, I was wondering if I could perhaps take up some of your time in a personal meeting -- today, if you could find the time. I have... a... hmm. Well, a situation, I suppose you could call it, and I was hoping for the input of a professional." 

Now thoroughly confused -- and not a little concerned -- Jim frowned into the phone. "Well, certainly, if you need it, but I don't understand. The campus has its own security..." 

"Yes, I know, of course," she said quickly, "but, well, this is a rather unorthodox situation I'm faced with. One that a man of your, uh, rather extreme natural talents would be, well, I guess I could say ideally suited for?" 

Jim froze, shooting a glance at Simon, who frowned at him. "I'm... not sure I understand you, Chancellor," Jim said carefully. 

"Oh, Detective," she sighed, "I'm just looking for some -- off the record, unofficial help. I think once you hear what I have to say you'll understand why I'm being so... mysterious. It's difficult to talk about it over the phone. Suzanne is well aware of the fact that I'm consulting with you." 

After a moment, Jim said, "Well, all right. Blair's in class now, and has a 2:00 class. Do you want us..." 

"I'd rather," Konoe interrupted quickly, "I'd rather meet with you alone. Of course, if you _need_ your... your _partner_... with you..." 

"No." It was difficult to swallow around a lump of worry, Jim thought. "I think I could come by now..." 

"I'll rearrange my schedule for you, Detective. Thank you, thank you so very much." 

With a non-committal grunt, Jim carefully replaced the phone in its cradle, then sank to a seat in a chair next to Simon's desk. His Captain stared hard at him. 

"What was all that about?" 

"Chancellor Konoe... she wants me to come by to consult with her on something. Something she says... my _unique talents_ could help on." 

It took Simon not quite ten seconds to put it together. "Oh shit. Oh _shit_. She knows about you, doesn't she? How long?" he demanded. 

"Um... for a while now, I think. You remember that cocaine in the beer case? She kinda put two and two together." 

"And now she's calling you for help on... 'something.'" Simon sounded incredulous. 

"Uh, yeah. Sounded kinda serious." 

"I'm gonna call Sandburg," he muttered, but Jim held up his hand. 

"Wait, Simon. Don't." Simon paused and looked back at him. "He's -- busy. And I'm not sure he needs to know yet." 

"Know _what_ , Jim?" Simon said, exasperated. " _You_ don't even know what she wants here." 

Jim just shrugged, looking worried. Finally, Simon asked, "So what are you going to do?" 

Biting his lower lip, Jim rose and paced to the windows. "I guess... I guess I'm going to go see her." 

After a moment's silence, Simon asked, "What's Sandburg doing?" 

"He's in his ten o'clock class. I needed to drive him; the 'classic' is in the shop again." They shared a grin. 

Drawing a deep breath, Simon nodded. "Okay; fine. You've got the rest of the morning, nothing's going on here anyway... take your cell in case I need you. And I want you to keep me posted." At Jim's frown, his Captain added, "Hey! I've got almost as much invested in this Sentinel thing as you do. Don't forget that." 

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir, wouldn't dream of it." Simon couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 

* * *

Jim had met Chancellor Konoe before, the last time under less-than-ideal circumstances. He remembered her as a small woman, very elegant, but with an aura of power and determination about her that was amazing. Meeting her across a desk this time did nothing to alter his initial perception of her -- however, he could tell she was a woman on the edge. Her neatly-coiffed hair was beginning to fray a bit, and she looked exhausted. 

He took her hand and shook it warmly as she greeted him. "Detective Ellison, I can't tell you enough what it means to me that you could come see me." 

"I think I would appreciate it if you would _try_ , ma'am," he said, taking the indicated seat, and declining the drink offer from the Chancellor's secretary. 

She smiled ruefully. "I apologize for our earlier conversation. Going over it in my head, I realize it must have sounded, well, pretty disturbing." The door behind Jim closed with a soft click, and Konoe suddenly deflated. "I'm well aware that I'm already in your debt, but I'm afraid I rather desperately need your help -- again." 

Leaning forward, Jim indicated his willingness to listen, but didn't reply. "We have... we have a new group on campus, Detective Ellison, and over the last week they've apparently been determined to make their mark. They're calling themselves the Spiritual Morality League, of all things, and they are... well, to be frank, they're beginning to scare me." She leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her temples. "They hide behind the aegis of religion, claiming to be nothing more than an extremely conservative spiritual group, but that's not so. They are as far from religion -- well, Christianity -- as you can get. All they really want is an excuse to terrorize anyone that doesn't agree with them. And while they're at it, all the blacks, and Hispanics, and Asians, and homosexuals..." 

Jim frowned but didn't say anything. After a moment she continued. "There have been a few incidents. Students have ended up in the hospital. Suzanne has tried, but they won't come out and tell us who hurt them... I think they're too afraid. I had the university president in here last week, demanding that I get rid of these... these hooligans, by any means necessary, he said." Snorting lightly she muttered, "Don Franklin likes to think this campus is his personal fiefdom sometimes." Looking up, her frightened brown eyes met Jim's. "Now... now Don's basically told me, 'never mind.' Said that he was overreacting. His daughter is a freshman here, you see -- I'm afraid she might have been -- approached." 

Beginning to see all too well -- and not liking it one bit -- Jim felt his frown become thunderous. Konoe continued. "If it hadn't been for Don reversing himself like that... well, I would have just proceeded the way I usually do. Have Campus Police keep an eye on them. Drag the leaders in to have a talk with them, along with the Dean of Students. Behave like the 'mommy' I have to be sometimes." She smiled at him, but it was weak. "But now... Detective Ellison, I... I find myself in an unusual situation. I don't know what to do." 

"It's Jim, ma'am," Jim said quietly, studying her on multiple levels. It was obvious she was telling the truth, and was equally obvious that she was highly stressed. 

"Thank you, Jim," she replied softly. "I'm Lin. Do you think you could help?" 

"I'm not sure what you want me to do here, Lin," Jim replied, shaking his head in confusion. 

She took a deep breath, staring at her hands. "I pride myself on my open-mindedness, Jim," she finally said. "I didn't know Blair until late last year, after Chancellor Edwards was, um, requested to leave \-- at your instigation too, I believe." Jim quirked a smile at her and indicated she should continue. "When I saw the press conference, I didn't know what to think. But when Eli came to me and told me about Blair, and when I read his file, well, it all became very clear." 

Deliberately, Konoe looked at Jim, then let her eyes drop slowly to a fairly large binder sitting on a corner of her desk. With a start, Jim realized the title on the stack of printout he could see through the clear cover was 'The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg.' "Is that..." 

"Yes," she said softly. "It's the only copy I know of, although I hope Blair has one. It's a very well-written piece of work, you know, and I found it quite illuminating. Your -- talents -- are prodigious. I had quite a difficult time prying this hard copy out of that idiot publisher's hands, as well as making sure he destroyed any electronic copies. The legal department here at Rainier is very good, Jim, and as I said before, I'm in your debt. I'd hoped that this would help mitigate that a bit." 

Swallowing, Jim dragged his eyes up to Konoe's, and to his surprise, met nothing but sympathy and understanding there. "I normally keep it in my vault, inside an envelope, where strict instructions to my lawyer demand it be destroyed in the event of my death. But I've read it... cover to cover." She leaned forward, and clasped her hands. "A university campus is not like the world at large, you know. We do have to follow state and federal law, but unlike outside campus, there's nothing to prevent me from using any method I can to get information, if I deem it necessary." 

It took Jim a few moments to calm himself and mull this revelation over. She let him have those moments, and more, sitting quietly in her chair, looking down at her hands. Finally, clearing his throat first, Jim said, "Blair thinks the world of you, you know." 

Konoe looked up in surprise. "He does? That's nice to hear. I -- I think very highly of him as well. He doesn't know, Jim, that I have his dissertation. And, from what I've seen... from what Eli's told me... you two are more than close. Am I right?" 

"Yes, ma'am," Jim murmured, looking her in the eye. 

"Then you'll understand why I say I'm nervous for Blair. I don't want to lose _any_ student, but especially not a brilliant, wonderful young man like him. And..." here she lifted her lips in a sad smile, "I'd hate to have you out for my blood because I didn't do enough to protect him. Does that make sense, Jim?" 

"Yeah," Jim replied, blowing out a breath, "yeah. It does. But I need to tell _you_ a few things now," he continued. "You know I'm a cop. I understand your need for discretion in this matter, and it doesn't take a Blair Sandburg to figure out why you came to me instead of -- or maybe as well as -- Tomaki. I'll do what I can. But anything significant I uncover is going to have to go to my superiors -- as is this information. I can't, in good conscience, let something illegal slide. Not for anyone." 

Pursing her lips, Konoe nodded. "I understand. All I ask is that you let me know anything you find out." 

"I can do that," Jim nodded. "I truly do understand your position here, Lin, and I'll do all I can to help out. I don't like seeing students \-- anyone -- assaulted either." 

Konoe smiled, and it lifted about five years off her face. She stood and held out her hand; Jim also stood, and took it. "Thank you, Jim. I've got a stack of copied files for you... They're yours to do with as you see fit. I can't tell you how much I consider you a godsend." 

"Well, wait to say that until you get my bill," Jim joked, smiling to show the words were teasing. 

But the Chancellor took them fairly seriously. "Whatever that bill is, I'll pay it. Please remember that, Jim. I will pay it. Like I said earlier, I already owe you for saving my friend's child. Anything you ever need that is within my power..." She trailed off, and Jim nodded to her, understanding. 

* * *

It was that wonderful rarity in the Pacific northwest -- a sunny spring day. Still cold, the air had a nip in it that the sun only partially dispelled. But that didn't stop the students at Rainier University from basking in the all-too-rare sunshine. Jim wandered among the pre-lunch crowds on the quad, listening and looking, cataloguing and dismissing, filing away that which might have been significant for later perusal. 

He hadn't gone far when he realized that the overall mood was tense, far too tense for a post-mid-term campus. People huddled in tight little groups, looking nervously around and speaking quietly. Girls walked in packs; he saw hardly any singles. Picking a bench in an out-of-the-way corner, he opened the first of the files Chancellor Konoe had given him, glancing through it while scanning the crowd for talk which might be important. One of the most useful skills Blair had taught him was to scan conversations -- much like a police scanner checks frequencies -- in order to identify key words. He used that now, on one level skimming over campus police reports and student profiles, while on another listening. 

"Mr. Ellison?" A familiar voice brought him up out of his semi-fugue state, and he looked up in surprise to find Bob Gemmell standing in front of him. 

Shaking his head and blinking, he smiled at the student. "Oh, hey. Bob. Sorry. I was reading and concentrating a bit." 

"No problem, I'm just surprised to see you here. Mr. Sandburg's got office hours, and I thought you'd be at work." 

"Well," Jim pursed his lips and considered the sturdy young man before him. Coming to a quick decision, he continued. "Actually, I am. The Chancellor has asked me to look into the situation here with that Spiritual Morality League. What?" 

As soon as Jim mentioned the group, Bob sat down next to him, looking about nervously. "I'll say she's got a situation," he said softly. "I think those assholes are trying to take over the campus!" 

"You know about them?" Jim asked intently. 

"Who doesn't?" Bob responded. "They're bad news, Mr. Ellison. Real bad news." Suddenly he paled. "They're not after Mr. Sandburg, are they?" 

"Not if I can help it," Jim replied grimly. "What can you tell me about them, Bob?" 

"Well, they were sudden," Bob replied slowly, glancing at his watch. "They had this rally last week, really got people upset. We've even started a counter-group, you know, against them, but -- well, it's hard to get members. These guys are really intimidating. And no one can pin anything on them. It's weird." 

"Who is 'we've', Bob?" Jim asked, getting his pen out. 

Bob rattled off a dozen names, which Jim copied down. "And there's a lot more that would join, but are afraid to. Most of us in the group are, you know, jock types, we can take care of ourselves. We've been doing stuff like escorting people back and forth to campus, that kind of stuff." Glancing at his watch again, Bob made to stand. "I guess Mr. Sandburg is going to help you clean this crap out, isn't he?" 

Jim opened his mouth, then suddenly choked. "Actually," he heard himself say from a great ways away, "Mr. Sandburg doesn't know I'm on this. I don't know if I'll tell him either... well, not right now." 

Nodding, Bob said, "Yeah, it's not like he doesn't have enough on his plate, what with Dr. Stoddard leaving and him taking over all the classes. Don't you worry, Mr. Ellison, I'll look after him while he's on campus." 

Sincerely touched by the young man's offer, even while he was wondering just why he had suddenly decided to keep Blair in the dark, Jim said, "I appreciate that, Bob. It's not like Blair is completely helpless, though." Oh yeah? a small voice inside Jim sneered. 

"Well, no," Bob said, then added shrewdly, "except when he's concentrating on some thing -- or someone -- else. Right? I mean, he kind of goes off into the ether and doesn't really notice anything around him." 

"You've got Sandburg pegged, all right," Jim said ruefully. 

"Well, don't you worry. I'll keep an eye on him here. I got class. Good luck in dealing with those bozos." Getting to his feet, he re-shouldered his backpack and moved off. "See ya later, Mr. Ellison!" he called as he jogged off. 

Jim waved and smiled, then glanced at his watch, noticing it was near lunch time. Making a detour to his truck, he left the files on the seat then walked to Hargrove, still listening and observing, fairly deep in thought. 

It made no sense to exclude Blair from this investigation -- not that it was an actual investigation, not yet, anyway. But Jim had an overwhelming urge to do just that, to keep Blair in the dark, to work this one alone. Like Bob had said, it wasn't as if Blair didn't already have enough on his plate. Always teaching, always gone. Away from Jim. Part of his brain yelled at him, reminded him that they had promised to talk to each other. But how could Jim talk to Blair when Blair was so busy with these damned classes? 

He heard Blair long before he saw him. In full 'teacher mode', Blair was deep in discussion with a student, handing out judicious amounts of praise and encouragement from Eli Stoddard's office. Since it was clear the meeting was ending, Jim leaned against the wall near the door and waited; shortly, a young man with a thoughtful expression left the room, and Jim slipped inside to lean against the door frame and force a smile for his partner. 

Blair sat at the desk, his hair flying every which way as he searched for something in his backpack. "Hey, Teach," Jim said softly. 

Jerking his head up, Blair smiled incandescently. "Jim! Man, what are you doing here? Simon let you off the leash?" 

"Isn't much of a leash without my partner around," Jim said, trying to keep his tone light. He entered the room and pushed the door to behind him. "Thought maybe you'd like to maybe accompany me to lunch. Gotta get my calories so I can chase bad guys around our fair city." 

"I would _love_ to go to lunch," Blair said fervently. "I'm starved. I forgot what a hassle teaching is, you know? Really draining. How did I do it for so long? And why? It sure as hell wasn't for the money." 

"Because you love it," Jim replied, perching on the edge of the desk next to Blair. Maybe more than me, he added silently, then forced that thought away. "And anyway, you're good at it. Sometimes..." He trailed off, swallowing back his sudden insecurity. 

"Sometimes what, Jim?" Blair asked, looking up at Jim, slightly puzzled. 

"Nothing." Jim leaned forward and tucked a stray lock behind one ear. "I -- I missed you today." 

"Yeah. I missed you too," Blair said. "You know, I love teaching, but... I just really missed you today. You and the job. C'mon. Let's go grab a bite at the pub, all right?" Pushing back the chair, Blair stood but was caught by Jim's hand on the back of his neck. 

"Pay toll," Jim whispered, and pulled the smaller man in for an embrace. 

"Cheap at any price, man," Blair murmured against Jim's lips. 

So caught up in his partner's taste and feel was Jim that he didn't hear the heartbeat of their observer. Reese Cooper stared at the two men through the slightly open door, frowning and chewing her lower lip before turning and hurrying away. 

* * *

By one-thirty, Jim was back in Major Crime, laying out the contents of the files he had been given to Simon. Just as Jim had done, Simon got a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach the more he read. 

"This doesn't look good," he muttered, looking from the Campus Police reports to the student profiles. "I take it you're getting the same feeling I'm getting here?" 

Nodding grimly, Jim said, "Kincaid's Sunrise Patriots." 

"Same MO. Why didn't Konoe come to the police with this herself?" 

Spreading his hands and shaking his head, Jim said, "She's got to be a politician too, Simon. She's caught between a rock and a hard place here. You know Suzanne Tomaki, she's good, but this kind of thing goes far beyond what the campus police can do, especially if those assaulted won't talk, and these kids won't. And... the U president has suddenly backed off from demanding blood, and she suspects coercion by these idiots. From what I overheard on campus, she's got good reason to believe that." 

Simon shot Jim a hard look. "What did you hear?" 

"Nothing specifically incriminating." Rubbing the back of his neck, Jim paced to the windows, turned and propped himself on the windowsill. "The kids are frightened. It's a university, Simon -- you know how it should sound. Loud, raucous... conversations of every kind everywhere. Instead, everyone huddled in little groups. People whispered, looking around themselves nervously. This group may not be that large -- yet \-- but it's got clout, and I'm afraid its ranks are growing." 

"Yeah, the peer pressure on a campus has got to be enormous." Simon went back behind his desk and sat, staring hard at nothing, a frown marring his features. "Okay, call H and Rafe in. I want them to start poking around on it." 

"But Simon..." 

"No buts, Jim. You're too close to it. And *don't* try to argue with me," he added, one finger raised as Jim opened his mouth to do just that. 

Exasperated, Jim stalked to the door, threw it open and motioned for his two colleagues. After a moment, Henri came in, followed by Rafe, who closed the door as Simon indicated. The files were still spread out on the conference table, and the Captain came around his desk to sit with his detectives. "Have a seat, gentlemen -- Jim has brought us something new to be concerned about." 

While Simon briefed H and Rafe on the situation, with Jim's help, the partners skimmed over the files. While Henri asked pointed questions of both Jim and Simon, Jim noticed that Rafe not only avoided talking to him -- he avoided even looking at him, just as he had done since he found out about Jim and Blair. Saddened by the withdrawal of a man he had always considered a friend, Jim tried to push it away and concentrate on business. 

Eventually, they decided on a plan of attack, which had the two partners going on to Campus separately to nose around for more information. H had a cousin on campus, living at a frat house, and Rafe knew a few of the instructors socially. Both detectives agreed that the situation ought to be nipped in the bud, hopefully by putting some of the ringleaders in jail for assault -- at the least. Jim gave them Suzanne Tomaki's name and number and advised them to work with her. 

Gathering up the files, the other detectives left the room, already arguing over who would take which tack in the investigation. Jim stayed where he sat, an unhappy expression on his face that Simon noticed instantly. 

"What's going on with Rafe, Jim?" He asked softly. 

Sighing, Jim turned to the sympathetic face of his captain. "Oh, I don't know, Simon. He's been acting... funny... since he, well, since he found out about me and Sandburg. I..." Jim trailed off, studying the table before him intently. 

Shaking his head, Simon turned to look through the glass of his office at the handsome detective arguing genially with his partner. "I never thought... not Rafe. I mean, some of the guys, yeah, redneck types are everywhere. But Rafe?" 

"Yeah, well, I guess you never know, do you." Jim's voice was flat with disappointment and Simon winced in sympathy. 

"Do you want me to talk with him?" 

Smiling slightly, Jim looked up. "Thanks, but no. That would probably make it worse. If I get a chance... I'll try to talk to him. Maybe today." 

"Don't..." Simon trailed off, obviously looking for the right words. "Don't blame him, don't hate him, Jim. He can't help what he is." 

"Well, that's not exactly true, is it, Simon?" Jim asked softly. "Hell, look at me. The way I was raised, you'd think I wouldn't be able to tolerate having a male lover, or even a black man as a friend and superior officer. But you're the best friend I've ever had. If I got past my upbringing, why can't he?" 

"I don't have any answers, Jim," Simon answered sadly. "I wish I did." 

Jim stood, clapping Simon on one shoulder. "Sandburg would tell us to just detach with love. Still gotta figure out how to do that, though." 

Snorting with laughter, Simon waved Jim out of the office. Both went back to work, to try to forget about the unexpected prejudice in what they had come to consider family. 

But, of course, neither could forget. 

Later that day, Jim found Rafe alone in the breakroom, trying to get the vending machine to give up its largess. Swearing under his breath, he was rocking the heavy machine and punching it lightly. 

"What's the matter, something get stuck?" Jim asked easily, sliding his coins into the soda machine to get himself an iced tea. 

"Goddamn thing. My M&Ms got jammed," Rafe muttered, giving the offending machine one last shake. Jim looked, and sure enough, a corner of the bag was caught under one of the wires that held the candy in place. 

"Here," Jim said, putting his can down on the table. "You hold that side, I'll take this one. On three..." With a grunt and a heave, the two men tipped the heavy thing, setting it back with a thump that loosened the offending wire and allowed the bag to fall to the bottom. 

Crowing in delight, Rafe bent and retrieved his candy. "Thanks," he muttered, not looking directly at Jim before turning and heading for the door. 

"You're welcome," Jim said, which caused the other man to pause before he reached the door. "Rafe," Jim said before he could start moving again. "I -- I haven't changed, you know. Neither has Sandburg. I wish you'd understand that." 

Frozen in place, Rafe didn't turn, but Jim could hear his heartbeat pick up. After a moment, he sighed and left the room, still not looking back. Shortly afterwards, Jim also went back to his desk to finish his day. 

* * *

At four-thirty, Blair called Jim with the news that the Volvo was fixed \-- for now -- and he needed a ride to the mechanic. Since he had the seminar to teach that night, the afternoon was hectic, retrieving his car, getting dinner, eating dinner, and racing out the door again. Several times Jim looked as though he wanted to talk to him about something, but they were always interrupted. 

Dropping a quick kiss to his partner's lips as he left the loft, Blair said, "I should be back by ten I hope. See you then," and dashed out. 

Blair arrived in the lecture hall with barely five minutes to spare. The room was already fairly crowded with students, and Bob had already set up the lectern and the overheads for him. "Hey, man, I didn't expect to see you here," Blair said to him, smiling. 

"Oh, yeah, I help Dr. Stoddard with this every week. I usually try to listen in on the lecture too, if that's all right with you?" 

"Yes, by all means," Blair answered, pleased. He continued, in a teasing tone, "You're really serious about anthro, aren't you?" 

Bob's ears turned pink. "Uh, yeah. It's really cool, Mr. Sandburg. I never thought I'd say that about academics, but... yeah. I really like it." 

Smiling brilliantly, Blair said, "You are a natural, man. I'm so glad you're enjoying it. And thanks for the set-up tonight. Now you just sit down and pay attention, okay?" 

Grinning back, Bob said, "Yes, sir!" 

A graduate seminar, made up of all anthropology majors, most of them cultural anthropology... to lead such a thing had always been a dream of Blair's. He took the lectern and proceeded to dazzle the students, frantically making notations on the overhead, pacing back and forth and gesturing wildly. Always one for feedback, he encouraged the participants to interrupt him, to question and demand answers. By the end of the two-hour session, every student loved him, and when he called time -- five minutes late -- there was a general groan of negation. 

"Sorry, guys," Blair said, grinning, "but two hours I was told and two hours it is -- I don't get paid by the hour, you know. Now. We've got papers due next week, I've got all the groups as Dr. Stoddard had, if there've been any changes, please e-mail me by _tomorrow_. As in before ten o'clock in the evening! Since there were five groups, I think we can get through all five presentations next week. You all ready?" 

Mostly affirmative replies met his question, and he laughed. "This is gonna be great, guys, just great. Okay, anyone who needs to see me, I'll be here for a while, come on down." 

While Bob took care of breaking down and returning equipment -- piling it on a cart and leaving with it to return it to the AV building -- Blair met with a few students who requested information on the presentations or on their papers. By nine-thirty, the cavernous room was empty, and Blair was packing up the last of his papers, finally -- and exhaustedly \-- preparing to leave. 

Making his way through the empty halls of Hargrove, Blair found he couldn't remove the smile from his face, despite his weariness. Even though he felt guilty over it, he hoped that Stoddard wouldn't be back for several weeks, so that he might keep on teaching this seminar. Hell, if it weren't for the other classes he had to cover, he would have been having much more fun teaching again.. 

At the door to Hargrove, he saw two students, male and female, standing close together. He smiled and was about to pass them when he recognized Reese Cooper. "Hey, Reese," he said, as she looked over at him. Her face, though, was closed, and she didn't reply. The boy she was with looked familiar, and as he walked down the steps and out towards his car, he frowned, trying to remember where he had seen that face before. As he realized it was Mr. Muscle-Shirt from his first class the Thursday before, he heard steps behind him. 

"So. This is the little faggot who needs to be taught a lesson, huh?" 

Blair stopped dead in his tracks, then slowly turned. Three young men stood behind him, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "I beg your pardon?" Blair said, pleased that his voice didn't shake. To his surprise, he found he was not scared at all; if anything, he was furious. 

"You heard us, you butt-fucking little cocksucker. We don't need your kind here at Rainier." The middle boy appeared to be the ringleader, and Blair studied him, committing his shadowy features to memory, glad that the campus was well-lit in the evening. 

"My kind. And what kind would that be? Intelligent, open-minded, right-thinking folks? Unlike Neanderthals like you?" Even as he spoke, Blair realized that might have been a mistake, his mouth running away from him again. 

The young man on the left started for him, only to be held back by the leader. "Don't worry about it, you'll get your turn on Mr. Mouth here. Think you're so smart, huh." 

Smiling ferally, Blair let his backpack slide down his arm to one hand. "Definitely smarter than you, dink-brain. _I_ wouldn't attack a teacher on a well-lit campus." 

"Oh, yeah? Well, I don't see your big faggot boyfriend anywhere about to protect you now. So just who do you think would stop us?" 

"Well, me for one," came a voice behind Blair. When he turned, he saw a grim-looking Bob Gemmell walking up to stand directly behind him, along with another big student that Blair vaguely recognized from either the football or hockey team. 

The ringleader glared at Bob and his companion. "Not a good move, sport," he growled. "You and your pissant little group really want to be painted with the same brush as your fudge-packer friends? I'd take off if I were you." 

"Not gonna happen, asshole," Bob replied. "Somebody's gotta put an end to your little reign of terror, and I figure Mr. Sandburg might be just the one to do it. Back off or we do it for you." 

Another student materialized out of the darkness to join the three confronting Blair, and with a start he realized it was the same student who had been with Reese. "You've fucked up royally this time, Gemmell," the newcomer sneered. "Not even your daddy could have gotten you out of this one." With a nod of his head, the four men charged. 

Once again, Blair found himself less frightened than angry. No, he decided to himself as he swung his heavy backpack up into the crotch of the first boy charging him, not _just_ angry. Pissed. Pissed as hell. 

The first attacker went down under the backpack onslaught, writhing and keening. Dropping his pack, Blair sidestepped the second boy, tripping him as he did. Bob jumped on him before the student could get up and began pummeling him. The other boy, the athlete, was engaged with the ringleader, throwing punches, which left Muscle-Shirt all to Blair. Wary now that his group no longer outnumbered the intended victims, the boy yelled to his cohort moaning on the grass, "Get up you jackass! C'mon!" 

"Sorry, man, I must have hit him a bit too hard," Blair said, staying low and watching the other man's hands carefully. "Not as easy as you thought, huh? Too bad a little academic fa -- academic geek like me could actually defend himself, huh. Maybe you'd have better luck terrorizing a nursery school." 

With a roar the young man attacked, fists swinging. But Blair hadn't worked with Jim for so long without picking up a few tricks. Dodging the blows -- and feeling as if he were channeling Sweet Roy -- he came in low with several hard jabs to the other guy's ribs and kidneys, then kicked the back of his knee as his momentum carried him past. Grunting in pain, the other man whirled, fist coming up fast and hard. Before Blair could duck, it made contact with his face, making the lights of the approaching Campus Police cars fracture into stars. 

* * *

Half-past-ten had come and gone, and Jim was beginning to worry. He sat on the sofa, channel surfing the TV and trying to keep from checking every clock in the loft every thirty seconds. When he finally heard Blair's classic creaking and chuffing its way up Prospect -- at nearly eleven -- he heaved a sigh of relief and felt muscles he hadn't known were tense relax. A half-smile on his face, he tracked Blair by sound, listening to him exit the car, cross the street, climb the stairs. By the time Jim realized how rapid and erratic Blair's heartbeat was, the younger man was at the door. 

A bit alarmed, Jim was sitting up and getting ready to stand when the door swung open and his jaw dropped. "Chief!" In one motion he was over the back of the couch and racing to his lover. 

Blair had a huge bruise on his cheek that was rapidly turning lovely shades of purple, green and red. His hair was shooting almost straight from his head and his clothes were muddy and torn. He was also smiling hard enough to split his face open. 

"Jim! Man, you should have been there -- you really missed it!" Shrugging out of his coat, he dropped his backpack and toed out of his shoes, sliding away from Jim who was trying to get a good look at his face. 

"Goddamn it, Chief, hold STILL," Jim growled, capturing the younger man's chin. "What the hell happened?" 

Rolling his eyes, Blair said in his best idiotic voice, "Well, duh! A fight. I haven't been that mad... I got ambushed by these idiots -- quit that, I'm okay -- and Bob and his friend Paul and I just wiped the _floor_ with them! Would you quit that?!" 

Sighing and holding in his anger and concern with effort, Jim went to the refrigerator and removed the icepack they kept in the freezer. He wrapped it in a dishcloth and handed it to Blair. "Start from the beginning, Sandburg. All of it," he said tightly. 

Gingerly pressing the cold pack against his eye and cheek, Blair pushed himself up to sit on the countertop. "Oh, for pete's... okay, okay. It's _not_ that big of a deal. I was on my way to the car after class, and these three jerks stopped me. Said something about my kind, well, something, whatever, and the next thing I know, Bob and Paul are standing behind me, and the three jerks became four, and get this, the new one looks to be Reese Cooper's boyfriend, of all things! So I take one of them out with the old trusty backpack, Bob and Paul take the others, and one of them gets in a lucky punch..." 

"Breathe, Sandburg," Jim murmured, watching his partner intently. Blair was excited and pumped, talking a mile a minute with his free hand and hair flying everywhere. But there was more; there was something in the way his eyes slid off Jim's that made Jim realize he wasn't getting the whole story. 

Still grinning ear-to-ear -- and still not meeting Jim's eyes directly \-- Blair drew in a deep breath. "So anyway; one of them got in a lucky punch -- you know, I zigged when I should have zagged -- but it didn't matter because by then Suzanne was there and the guys just disappeared. Into the woodwork like all good cockroaches. Never seen anything like it. But I gave her a real good description. No worries, man. Could you get me an aspirin? My head is beginning to ache like a son of a bitch." 

"Sure. Get off the counter." Blair rolled his eyes but did so, opening the fridge for a bottle of water while Jim went to the bathroom for the pain reliever. 

"Thanks, man," Blair said, laying the icepack on the island counter while he swallowed the pills. "I am _whipped_! I need to clean up and then hit the hay." 

"Oh no you don't," Jim said quietly, snagging Blair's arm as he tried to slip past. "You're not telling me all of it." Blair opened his mouth to protest, but Jim cut him off. "All of it, Sandburg." 

Sighing heavily in annoyance, Blair sagged against the counter. "Can we at least sit down if you're going to grill me?" he asked. 

Without a word, Jim steered him to the living room, gently pushing him down to the couch. Blair took a big swig of his water, then looked sourly at Jim. "You're not gonna just let this alone, are you?" 

"Nope." 

"Damn." Finishing off his water, Blair put the empty bottle on the coffee table. "Oh, all right, but you have to promise me you won't do anything on this. Suzanne has got it well in hand, man." 

Jim just sat there and stared at him, not moving a muscle other than the one jumping in his jaw. Exasperated, Blair finally began talking, staring at the empty bottle. "They called... oh fuck. Goddammit," Blair muttered, yanking his wild hair back with a savage gesture. "They called me a faggot, okay? A little cocksucker. Told me that there was no place at Rainier for 'people like me.' Neanderthals," he spat out, but Jim thought the shaking he saw in Blair was from something other than rage. "They were targeting me because of the way I look, I guess." 

"Because of the way you _look_?" Jim asked softly, a pained look on his face. 

"Well, yeah, I mean, come on, man," Blair replied, continuing to pull his hair down with one shaky hand while the other kept the icepack on his face. He pointedly didn't look directly at Jim. "I've heard it most of my life. You see someone who looks like me, which team do you think he plays for? That's all there was to it. Just... just some assholes looking to pick on someone. Someone who... I guess looked queer." Suddenly, his face paled even more than it had been. "But... they knew about you. Somebody must have, I don't know, seen us, maybe. Decided from that, I guess, that I must be gay." 

Jim swallowed heavily, but never took his eyes off his friend and lover. "But... Blair," he said gently, painfully, after a moment, "you _are_ gay." 

Blair threw the icepack on the coffee table, jumped to his feet and began pacing. "I know that! Don't you think I know that? I'm... Okay. I'm in a relationship with a man -- so yeah. I'm gay. Now, anyway. Happy?" Blair continued to pace, his hands and hair darting around faster than Jim could see. "All my life, all my _life_ I've been called names for one thing or another... they were... they were just never true, you know? I never saw the tale from the other side." Abruptly freezing in place, Blair added, blinking in surprise, "Not until now." 

Standing at the balcony doors, he turned away from Jim and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. Jim stood and walked to him, standing close behind but not quite touching him. "Well, there's always 'bastard'... that one was true..." he said softly, trying -- without much success \-- to cheer both of them up. 

Blair snorted; Jim couldn't tell if it was in laughter or tears. "Yeah. I guess. It just... it kinda hit me. Took me by surprise, I guess. I dunno. I just wasn't expecting it -- I mean, I sure as hell don't _feel_ gay. Maybe I wasn't ready to hear it. It's just stupid." 

*I don't feel gay* echoed in Jim's mind. Not trusting himself to speak beyond a whisper, Jim said, "No, it's not stupid." After a moment, he added, his voice choked, "Do you... I mean, you're not having... regrets?" 

Whirling, Blair grabbed Jim's shoulders and stared fiercely into his face, shaking him slightly. "Regrets? About _us_?! Tell me you're just pulling my chain here, man, because that... them's fighting words, all right? So just stop that right now. You hear me?" 

"Yeah, yeah... I hear you, Chief. I hear you. It's just... you've... we've..." 

"What, Jim?" Blair's voice was exasperated, but he looked earnestly into his lover's eyes. 

Slumping, Jim tried to breathe around the tightness in his chest. "Nothing. It's okay, I'm just... just rattled. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up and into bed." 

Jim could tell that Blair wanted to ask him again, to press the issue, but he was hoping that the younger man was too tired to force it. Blair let Jim herd him into the bathroom, wash and disinfect his face, and take away his damaged clothing, all without saying a word. Finally, they ended up in bed, the cold pack still mostly frozen and on Blair's face. Jim turned off the light and carefully pulled Blair to him, and that's when both of them noticed Jim was trembling slightly. 

"Jim." Blair didn't move, but he did caress the arm that was slung across his middle. "Are... are you mad at me or something? I -- I know I haven't been around, and it's only going to get worse until Eli comes back. But..." 

Fighting to keep his voice normal, Jim replied, "It's all right, Sandburg. Go to sleep. It'll be okay in the morning." 

Neither man said -- but both felt -- that it wouldn't be. However, exhaustion caught up with them, and they slept. 

* * *

"That's some shiner, there, Hairboy -- what'd you do, run into a door?" The teasing voice was familiar, even if the setting wasn't. Blair was on his way out of Hargrove Hall when he heard it. 

"H? Man, what are you doing here?" He stared at the bald man, returning his smile weakly. "They don't let mental pygmies in here, you know." 

"Oh yeah, yeah, laugh it up, but I'll have you know I are a college graduate," Henri said, holding up his right hand. "I'm glad I caught you; Ms. Tomaki said you'd be leaving about now." 

"Suzanne?" Blair blinked. "What were you talking to Suzanne about?" 

The sunny weather was holding, and H looked around the quad. Spotting an empty bench near the foot of the steps, he pointed it out to Blair. "C'mon, let's take a load off and I'll tell you." They moved down the broad steps together, Henri leading the way. "I've been assigned to this whole hate group thing, and I've spent the morning with Ms. Tomaki. She told me about your run-in with them last night and..." 

"Hold on hold on... wait a minute. *You've been assigned* -- to Rainier? Over some hate group thing? What the hell's going on here, H?" 

Taken aback, Henri blinked at his friend. "What, you don't know? Jim brought it to us, I figured you'd be in deep. It's those Moral Spiritual Purist thingamajigs, that new group on campus that's going -- okay, allegedly going -- around harassing people. Like you last night. Right? I mean, Tomaki's report was pretty thorough and that's what it sounded like, same MO and every... thing..." 

Henri trailed off as he took in Blair's face. Had the young man's jaw been any lower, it would have been brushing the ground. "Damn, Sandburg, I can't believe you didn't know. I mean, the Chancellor even called Jim." 

Blair closed his mouth with a snap and squinched his eyes shut. "The Chancellor. The Chancellor here. Chancellor Konoe? She called _Jim_?" 

Studying the young man before him, Henri frowned. "Okay. You didn't know. There's a group on campus, there've been incidents which may or may not be linked to them, and I'm here getting witness statements and interviewing people who have filed complaints against them." Seeing Blair's obvious confusion, he concluded, "I think maybe you'd better have a talk with Jim." 

"I think maybe I'd better," Blair muttered. "So what did you need me for? Obviously, I've been kept out of the loop on all of it up to now." 

"Ah... hunh." Henri scrubbed his face with one hand. "Ah, well, I just need to go over your statement with you. You know the drill, hell, you're a better cop than most of the uniforms." 

The not-so-subtle attempt to break Blair out of his obviously growing anger went zooming over his curly hair at the speed of sound. "Yeah. Right. Whatever. Do you mind if I do it later, H? I'm supposed to pick up lunch for Jim on my way to the station, and I'm late." He shook his head, his lips a thin line. "Don't want to ruin my perfect errand-boy rep, now do I." 

Without waiting for a reply, Blair got to his feet and stalked off, muttering as he headed for the parking lot. Henri watched him go, eyes wide. "Oh shit I am in for it now," he said softly to himself. 

* * *

All the way to Shipman's Deli, and then to the PD, Blair repeated his mantra to himself, trying to remain calm. Needless to say, it didn't work, and by the time he arrived in Major Crime, his blood pressure was probably off the scale. He stormed through the double doors and strode to Jim's desk, where his partner sat, looking at him with some alarm. 

"Uh, Chief? What's wrong? You okay?" 

"What the _fuck_ is going on here, Jim?" It was a struggle, but Blair managed to keep his voice quiet. "I just happened to run into H at the campus. Where he has been _assigned_ to investigate some alleged hate group. Who just might be the assholes that attacked me last night. That _YOU_ were called in to Chancellor Konoe's office about, *without me*! What the hell is happening here? Am I your partner or not, Jim?" Despite his best efforts, his voice rose as he confronted his partner, and by the time he paused for a breath, he was quite loud. 

Before either one of them could speak, Simon appeared like a thundercloud at the open door to his office. "Ellison! Sandburg!" he barked. "My office. _NOW_." 

Blair tossed the two deli bags he still held onto his desk and turned, without a word, away from Jim. When they got into the office, Simon closed the door behind them, turned, and watched as Blair went to the window and Jim sat at the conference table. "What's going on, gentlemen?" he asked, his voice mild. 

"What's _going on_ , Captain?" Blair snapped, not turning around. "How the hell should I know? I'm always the last to know what's going on around here." 

Jim winced and Simon noticed it. Without taking his eyes from his partner's back, Jim said quietly, "Sandburg ran into H on campus. He must have wanted to talk to Blair about... what happened last night." 

Frowning, Simon looked between the two men. "What _did_ happen last night? Does it have anything to do with the handsome shiner our resident consultant is sporting?" 

Blair just snorted. Jim sighed and said, "Yeah. Sandburg was attacked on campus last night, after his evening class. Four perps. Called him names, ganged up on him. You remember Bob Gemmell?" Simon nodded shortly. "Gemmell and another student helped Sandburg out and..." 

"Who probably wouldn't have managed at all without their help, right, _Ellison_? Poor little old me, poor overly-protected me... couldn't..." 

"That's enough." Simon's voice was low, but it carried authority. "Jim? Would you excuse us, please? I'd like to talk to Mr. Sandburg alone. _Privately_ , Jim," he added. 

Nodding, but not saying anything, Jim stood and walked out, carefully closing the door behind him. Simon took a seat at the conference table and leaned back. "Sit down, Sandburg." When Blair didn't move, his Captain added, "That wasn't a request. Sit. Down." 

Reluctantly, Blair turned, pulled out a chair, and slouched in it, crossing his arms and looking anywhere but at Simon. "What the hell was all that little demonstration of temper about?" Simon finally asked, leaning forward. 

Pursing his lips, Blair turned his head and glared at Simon. "What, you didn't know either? And here I thought it was just me. After all, H seemed to know all about it. How Jim was called into the Chancellor's office, how Rafe and H were _assigned_ to campus to look into some hate group. Some hate group that *I've* never heard of!" 

"So I take it you're a little pissed." 

"A little!?" Blair stared at his captain, incredulous. "Yeah. You could say that. I practically _live_ on campus, Simon! Not to mention I could have used a warning about these jokers. And not only do you and Jim go behind my back, the Chancellor even..." 

"Hold on there, hotshot," Simon interrupted him. "No one has been going behind *anyone's* back, Sandburg. Yeah, the Chancellor called Jim in to consult on this case. Because she knows what Jim is. Because she trusts him... only by extension, Sandburg, only by extension! Through _you_. As to why you haven't heard of this group, well why do you think? You _used_ to live on campus, Sandburg; but now you're spending all your time _here_ , working your ass off for us. Had you been on campus, you probably would have known." 

"Yeah, yeah, but now I _am_ on campus, much to Jim's displeasure, and not here, where I... where I guess he thinks I should be." Blair's jaw was working as he ground those words out, and he didn't seem inclined to listen to Simon, who sighed. 

"I'm not going to watch my best team self-destruct over this, Sandburg," he finally said. "I don't know what's eating you, but it isn't this case. Get out of here. Go on home until you can control yourself better \-- meditate or something. I'll send Jim home later. But I want you to work this out, Sandburg. You hear me?" 

Clearly withholding a biting remark by sheer force of will, Blair nodded shortly, got up and went to the door. Simon followed him, and motioned for Jim to come in to his office. "Bring that Constantine file with you, Jim," he called, watching Blair's jerky movements as he gathered his coat and backpack and left the room. 

Jim stood still, clutching the file in question, as he watched his partner leave the room. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumped, and walked into Simon's office. "Here you go, sir," he said softly, handing over the file. 

"Thanks. Sit down." 

"I've got some work..." 

"Is there something wrong with my voice today? I said, siddown." Simon glared at Jim over his desk until the detective took a seat. "That's better. Now. I sent Sandburg home until he could control himself. Now _you_ will tell me what the hell's wrong with the kid." 

Shaking his head, Jim replied, "I don't know." 

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit. You know him better than anyone." 

"Do I?" Haunted blue eyes came up to meet Simon's. "I thought I did. But... he's different somehow, now, Simon. He's gone back to his real love -- teaching -- but I think his time here has changed it for him. He's taking more chances. You should have seen him last night when he got home. He was so _up_... grinning ear to ear because he was involved in a fight. That's not the Blair I know." 

Simon looked puzzled. "It isn't?" 

"No! He's... he's shot a person, Simon! He beats on people and then crows about it! That's not _my_ Blair." 

Relaxing back in his chair, Simon frowned as he puzzled this out. "Jim, I think you're overreacting. Blair has never been a shrinking violet \-- he didn't _like_ it, but he never hesitated in shooting Ervin. He took out two of Kincaid's men and he didn't even have a weapon, for God's sake." 

"No, you don't understand," Jim interrupted him. "It's not just that. It's... it's everything. Oh, I don't know." Restlessly, Jim stood and took his accustomed place by the window, smoothing down his ever-thinning hair. 

Frustrated, Simon sighed and shook his head. "Okay, okay. Fine. You say he's changed. I don't really see it, personally, although that display of temper was certainly not all that normal -- nothing I haven't seen before, though. But if you say it's true, then it must be." Jim turned from the window, surprised at his Captain's harsh tone. "But I'm going to tell you one thing, Jim, and I'm only going to tell you this once, so pay attention. 

"You two are partners. You're my best team; you have the highest arrest and convict stats in the state. You're also romantically involved. You _know_ the department regs on that. And this kind of situation is _precisely_ the reason why they were written. Yeah, yeah, I know all about the Sentinel thing, and that's why I'm willing to cover your asses for you. But you have to meet me halfway here, Ellison. If you two can't get over... whatever the hell it is that's got you so worked up, then I'm going to have to reassign him -- to another partner or department. You hear me, Ellison? I will not tolerate this kind of behavior on my watch." 

Jim swallowed and nodded, his face stricken. Simon hardened his heart, knowing how much the two men meant to each other, but also knowing that their work partnership had to take precedence over their romance -- at least in this venue. Hoping his brutal words had done more help than harm, he concluded more gently. "All right. Go on, get out of here, do some of the work you get paid for." 

Dropping his eyes, Jim silently left the office. 

* * *

By the time Jim got home, it was nearly dark. The lights were on in the loft and he could hear Blair moving around; he didn't know if that reassured him or terrified him. 

"Fear-based responses," he muttered to himself, sitting in the cab of the truck. "What are you, a man or a mouse? And why do I have a sudden yen for cheese?" 

Even to himself, his jokes sounded lame and flat. Steeling his backbone, he got out of the truck and walked into the building. 

Blair was cooking. He couldn't be so angry then, Jim thought, if he was cooking -- maybe. Then he sniffed carefully for signs of arsenic amidst the stir-fry, of course finding none. Blair wouldn't be that obvious. Reluctantly, Jim entered and quietly hung his coat on the hook by the door. Standing at the stove and stirring something in the wok, Blair didn't turn to greet him. 

Jim put his keys in the basket and stood still, looking at his partner, his lover. Blair didn't acknowledge him, but turned the gas off the stove and started spooning the food to a platter already covered with cooked rice. "Set the table, then," he finally said, his voice short and flat. Wincing, Jim moved to do so. 

They sat and ate in chilly silence, the tension growing thicker with every bite. Finally, his plate still mostly full, Blair tossed down his fork. 

"Okay, Jim, just tell me this," he started abruptly, not looking away from the remains of his dinner. "Am I still your partner or what? Or was this all a ploy to get me to move out or something? 'Cause, man, if that's what you want, I am down with that." 

Startled, Jim gaped at Blair. "No!" he said. "Of course you're still my partner. Why would you even _ask_ that?" 

"Well, what am I supposed to think, Jim? You have a meeting with the Chancellor about my campus behind my back..." 

Jim tossed his own fork down, interrupting Blair. "First off, I did nothing behind your back. Lin called me and asked me -- me specifically \-- to come by to help out with something. And secondly, it's not _your_ campus!" 

"'Lin' called you." Blair dragged his eyes up to meet Jim's, and Jim was startled to see the pain and fury in them. "So 'Lin' calls you, wants to get _your_ help on a case involving the campus _I_ am a student at, and yet you don't bother to tell me, your nominal partner, your alleged lover, of an investigation that seriously affects me." He stared at Jim for a moment, breathing deeply. "So tell me, what would _you_ think?" 

"It's not like that," Jim started to say, but he was interrupted. 

"Well it sure as hell looks like it from this end! Jesus God, Jim, these punks attacked me last night! It would have been nice to know about them in advance, man!" 

"There wasn't time to tell you!" Jim said stridently. "You were teaching _all day_ , Sandburg! I hardly even saw you Monday, which, for the record, is when I first found out about it! It's not my fault if you're never at the PD any more because of these... these damn classes!" 

Mouth agape, Blair stared at Jim. "Is that what this is all about?" he asked. "My teaching again? You _know_ I'd rather be with you, be at the PD, much more than teaching! What, are you _punishing_ me or something?" 

Looking away, Jim pushed his chair back with a screech and stood. "NO! That -- that has nothing to do with it," he replied shortly, picking up his plate and carrying it into the kitchen. 

"Oh, here we go again," Blair said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he threw up his hands. "Mr. Repression strikes again. What fear-based response is eating your ass now, Jim?" 

With a crash, Jim's plate landed in the sink. "Fear-based response? Sure, Sandburg, let's talk about fear-based responses," he said, his voice picking up volume. "Like the response you had to being called a faggot. Let's just talk about that one, shall we? Or would the little cocksucker just be a poseur out of liberal guilt, only pretending to be queer to -- what, to indulge his sugar daddy?" 

Trembling, Blair stood, his lips a thin, white line. "Low blow, Ellison," he ground out. "Even for you. May I remind you just WHO demanded to pay my tuition this semester? I've NEVER asked for anything from you. And I've never had any issues with being your lover. Until now, anyway." 

"As long as you needed me for protection," Jim growled. "But now that you've turned into this... this macho man punk, fighting at the drop of a hat..." 

"WHAT the FUCK are you talking about?" Blair yelled. 

"YOU!" Jim roared back. "I'm talking about YOU! Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You're running around campus like a goddamned Rambo, thinking you can take on the world!" 

Blair came around the table and faced Jim across the island counter, his fists clenched in rage. "IF you'll recall, _Detective_ , I was all set to go into the fucking police academy to become a cop, JUST because you..." 

"Pull the other one, Sandburg, we both know you wouldn't have made it through the academy," Jim shouted back, his face turning red from anger. 

"Oh? And what's THAT supposed to mean?" Blair demanded. "I'm not good enough to become a tight-assed, repressed, knuckle-dragging pig? Maybe I'm not SMART enough to learn how to eat donuts and drink swill?! Is that what you're saying, Ellison?" 

"Oh, no," Jim sneered, fighting back emotions trying to take him over, "I'm sure you would have passed the book learning, Sandburg, after all, that's what you're _good at_ , right? Mr. Super-Renaissance-Man, who can teach and learn and still fight for truth and justice with his bare hands!" 

"I've _never_ had a problem defending myself, Ellison, you can get that through your solid rock head right now!" Blair bellowed back. "The only one with a problem here is YOU! You're treating me like I'm some kind of -- of fainting, helpless heroine in a romance novel or something!" 

"If the shoe fits, Sandburg...!" 

Blair pounded the countertop, hard, then twisted away. "You _ASSHOLE_!" he shouted, walking jerkily away from Jim. "You shithead! How the hell did I ever fall for someone like you?" Whirling, he pointed a quivering finger at Jim, fury pouring from every inch of him. His mouth opened, as if to speak, but nothing managed to come out except harsh panting. 

Jim hadn't moved, couldn't move, from the spot in the kitchen where his legs had apparently grown into the floor, and watched the meltdown of his partnership with a tight pain in his chest that was nearly overwhelming. He, too, was shaking, in rage and anguish, the engineer watching his train go out of control and knowing he was utterly incapable of stopping it. 

With great effort, forcing his rigid muscles to move, he turned to the refrigerator, opened it and got a beer. His back to Blair, he removed the cap and swigged half the beer in one big gulp, desperately trying to still the trembling in his body. Behind him, Blair panted; his heart raced and heat poured off him. 

Once again, Jim's brain disengaged from his mouth. "How the mighty have fallen," he said, softly but clearly. "Sandburg without words. Alert the media." 

"Fuck you, man. How's that for words." 

Jim turned in time to see Blair don his coat and pick up his backpack. "What the... where the hell do you think you're going?" 

"What the hell do you care?" Blair demanded in reply, stepping into his shoes and pulling his backpack up over his shoulders. "As long as it's away from here, hell sounds pretty good to me." 

"Sandburg, don't you _dare_ walk out that door," Jim said rapidly, trying to get his feet to move, trying to go to his lover and fall to his knees, to beg forgiveness. 

Blair gave him a vicious look and the finger. He slammed the door on his way out. 

Bellowing incoherently, Jim heaved his bottle after his departed lover. It hit the support beam and shattered, showering the kitchen and dining room with beer and shards of green glass. 

As Jim sagged against the cabinet, sliding to the floor, the neighbors in the apartment below thumped the ceiling, complaining about the noise. 

* * *

Blair raced down the stairs, nearly falling several times as his legs seemed to give out on him. He made it to the Volvo and fumbled with his keys, wiping the moisture that seemed to gather at his eyes no matter how often he brushed it away. It took him longer than it should have, but finally he was able to get in, start the car and put it in gear -- before realizing he had no idea where to go. 

Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, he allowed himself to give in to despair for a moment, sobbing and heaving for breath. Then he pushed himself upright, swiped savagely at his face, wincing as his shirt cuff hit his still-swollen cheek, and pulled out onto Prospect. 

Without thinking about it, he headed for Rainier, the only other place that had ever felt like home to him. He was more than halfway there before he realized he no longer had an office in which to crash; with a hitching sob, he realized he had Eli's office keys, and could go there. Stoddard didn't have a couch like his old digs, but there was an old, beat-up leather armchair he could curl up in and sleep, until tomorrow. 

And then he wondered, what about tomorrow? What was he going to do now that he seemed to have destroyed his relationship with Jim? Coasting to a stop at a red light, Blair felt his emotions threatening to overwhelm him again. "Sticks and stones can break my bones," he whispered, quoting his mother, "but words will break my heart. Good gods and goddesses, you've certainly made a mess of things, haven't you, Sandburg?" 

A beep from behind him made him realize the light had turned, and he pressed the gas, driving mechanically. Dammit, he wasn't completely to blame here. Jim had his share of it, had always had his share of it. It was just that... just that normally, only one of them suffered. Now both were. 

Turning into the parking lot at the University, Blair suddenly saw movement out at the extreme edge of his headlights; what the hell was that? A dog? Screeching to a stop, he stared incredulously through the windshield. It was a wolf. The wolf. 

Feral yellow eyes glared at him for a moment, then gracefully the creature loped off into the darkness. Stunned, Blair sat frozen for several moments before he could continue into the parking lot and slip into a spot in the nearly-empty lot. 

Shaken, Blair climbed from the Volvo and once again shouldered his backpack, plodding to Hargrove Hall, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. A distant howl -- of obvious rage and anger -- froze him in place briefly, then caused him to hurry inside. He paid no attention to his surroundings, and so completely missed seeing two unfortunately familiar young men following him. 

Finally reaching Stoddard's office, Blair fumbled once again with his keys, unlocked the door, entered, and closed it behind him. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head on the frosted glass as he twisted the lock to secure the door. 

The frosted glass... Suddenly, he remembered the etched-glass wolf that Jim had painstakingly removed from his old office door and installed in the window of his bedroom -- their office now. Or it had been. If Blair ever went back to the loft. Was ever allowed back into the loft. 

He let his backpack slide to the floor, and flicked on the lights. Turning around slowly, he let himself sink to the floor before opening his eyes \-- on a jungle. 

* * *

Eventually, Jim managed to get himself out of his stupor. Working on auto-pilot, he mopped up the spilled beer and deposited chunks of glass into the trash. One particularly sharp shard cut into his palm, and he watched, bemused, as the bright red blood pooled and began to drip down his arm. His head hurt, his throat and chest ached, and his senses were going berserk on him -- one moment he could hear clear across the bay and the next he couldn't even hear his own heart thundering in his ears. Sight and smell were the same way, and touch... well, all his hands wanted was to touch Blair again. 

Before the blood could drip onto the floor, he wrapped the injury in a clean dishtowel, then stumbled into the living room and collapsed on the couch, raising the injured hand over his head, using his forearm to shield his eyes. He knew Blair was gone; he had tracked his lover's progress as best he could with his faltering hearing, until not even echoes remained. Rubbing his uninjured hand over his face, he groaned in pain; how could he have said some of the things he had? Nothing... nothing that either of them had said was true, but they knew exactly what buttons to push and how hard to push them. They knew each other so very fucking well. 

Dammit. 

There was no way Blair could forgive him this time, he was well and truly fucked, in deep, DOA. And Jim knew, knew like he knew where he lived, like he knew his hair was falling out, that he could not face going on without Blair. Definitely not as a Sentinel. Maybe not as a man. 

He had screwed up -- again -- and hurt Blair -- again. The only good thing about the situation is at least this time he... hadn't... died... Letting his head fall limply back over the back of the sofa, Jim let the emotion overwhelm him. "I am _such_ an asshole," he choked out, "But... but... he... Oh, Jesus. What am I gonna do now, without him..." 

After a few minutes spent wallowing in self-pity, Jim was startled by a sound, just on the edge of his crippled hearing. Incapable of moving, he focused on it, trying to figure out what it was, then abruptly realized it was the scream of a big cat. Suddenly, there was no oxygen in the room and his mouth and throat were dry as old sticks. With effort, he lifted his head -- which somehow weighed several tons -- and opened his eyes. 

On a jungle. 

* * *

"I am calm. I am calm. I am calm." Under his panicky breath, Blair continued the litany, looking around himself frantically. The door at his back had become the trunk of a tree, and Stoddard's office was suddenly a dark glade. Scrambling to his feet, Blair's words became "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..." 

Directly in front of him, there was a rustling, and he pressed his back more tightly against the tree. Out of the bushes strode a large timberwolf, looking as incongruous in the jungle as it always did. Lifting its muzzle, it howled, a mournful, desperate sound, then glared at Blair, who swallowed hard. 

Frozen in place, Blair watched as the wolf paced towards him, stretching up and up and finally becoming a familiar form. Blinking, stunned, Blair stuttered, "In -- Incacha?" 

Shaman regarded shaman in silence. Finally, the apparition spoke, gently. "Who are you?" he asked. 

Groaning, Blair buried his face in his hands. "Oh, no, not that again," he moaned, then continued harshly, "I have no _fucking_ idea who I am any more." 

The shaman's eyes remained calm and unwavering. "Who are you?" 

"If I knew who I was," Blair shouted, "I wouldn't have said what I said!" 

Sudden realization hit, like a sucker-punch. "Oh my God," Blair breathed. "I -- we -- I fucked up tonight. He's _hurting_... and I -- I hurt him worse. Goddamn it," he finished sadly, dragging his hands through his hair, "we're getting real good at this hurting each other, aren't we?" 

As he normally did when frustrated or thinking, Blair began to pace, his eyes focused on the ground before his feet. "I can't believe some of the things I said -- _we_ said -- tonight. I was just so... so angry, you know? I never even noticed how much Jim was hurting over my not being there. Over my teaching again. He must have been all twisted up... like me. It felt like it was eating me inside, like goddamn Ripley." 

Looking up suddenly, Blair found himself face-to-face with -- himself. "A Guide is a Guide only with a Sentinel," the other him said calmly. "You learn from him, he learns from you. It's a partnership, a covenant freely entered and sealed." 

"Oh, my god." Blair choked, recognizing the words he'd said to Incacha. Sagging, he let himself fall to his knees on the ground. Wrapping his hands behind his neck, he rocked back and forth restlessly. "I let him say those awful things, shit, I said them back. I let my own nervousness about teaching blind me to his nervousness about letting me teach. I was stubborn as hell, just like him. Neither one of us could back down. And now... now it's destroyed for good." 

* * *

"Here we go again," Jim muttered, pushing himself more or less upright. The sofa beneath him had turned into the soft jungle floor, and the loft into a dark and steamy glade. Still overcome with emotion, Jim simply stood, swaying slightly, eyes focused on the mossy ground before him. 

Another scream slowly forced his head up. Out of the bushes before him strode an inky darkness with yellow eyes -- the jaguar. It stopped several feet away from him and regarded him angrily, its tail twitching. Locked into place, Jim waited, knowing what would happen. 

He wasn't disappointed. The jaguar moved, paced towards him, and elongated, stretched, stood on hind legs and became... himself. His jungle self, with a face streaked in paint and dressed in ragged fatigues. Two sets of blue eyes regarded each other silently, then the panther-Jim spoke. As always, its voice was oddly modulated. 

"Who are you?" 

Jim closed his eyes and sagged. "I... I don't know." 

The other-Jim was relentless. "Who are you?" 

Almost against his will, Jim's eyes lifted to meet his doppelganger's. "A... I am a sentinel." 

"A Sentinel without a Guide is not a Sentinel." 

Swallowing hard, Jim muttered, "Nice of you to tell me, finally." 

Abruptly, the panther-Jim morphed into Incacha. "Enqueri. This you have known all along." 

Jim looked longingly into the eyes of his once-shaman, then sighed. "I didn't want to need him," he said, driven to try and explain. "But he, he made me. He was always there. I got used to him being around. Counted on him. Knew he was always there, and when he started this teaching again, and he was just so goddamned _happy_ about it... I just didn't know what to do." Gasping in realization, Jim added, "And so I struck out. Tried to make him hurt... like I did." 

Bowing his head, Jim closed his eyes. 

* * *

When Blair looked up again, he was back in Stoddard's office, the big oak desk behind him. Shifting slightly, he pulled his legs into lotus and tried to calm his heart and breathing. 

After several minutes' work, he calmed enough to enter a light meditation state, attempting to dispassionately examine the anger he felt. He realized that his fight with Jim would not have been nearly so vicious had they not cared for each other so much. Each knew -- with unfortunate clarity \-- the insecurities and worries of the other, and while normally that was a strength, in this case it had been a weakness. It had allowed them to wound each other deeply with words. 

Eyes popping open, Blair's jaw sagged as he finally realized how much they had come to rely on each other. Incredulous, he saw that was why his teaching knocked Jim for such a loop. "And I rely on him..." Blair breathed aloud, "and *I've* never realized how much that rankles. I've always been so independent. Never needed anyone. But I need him." 

Sighing, Blair blinked as he processed this revelation. Jim had always struck him as a kindred spirit, someone who doesn't need anyone. For the senses stuff, sure, he needed Blair; that was obvious. It was also pretty obvious that Jim resented it too. But rather than being relieved that Blair was out from underfoot so much, Jim felt threatened. 

Rising, he began pacing again. But the evening's events were as much Jim's fault as his own. The things Jim said... even allowing for the fear... Deep in thought, he kept on, wearing a groove in Stoddard's floor. 

After a long period of introspection, he came to a rest at the large window, leaning his hot forehead against the glass. Taking a deep breath, he understood -- finally -- that they needed each other, and decided it was time they both admitted that -- as well as time to stop the damn games and grow up a little. Staring blindly out the window into the night, he wondered why it was that people who love each other so deeply can also hurt each other so much. 

He chuckled, only slightly hysterical now. "Somebody page Ricki Lake," he muttered. 

Stoddard's office overlooked the faculty parking lot. From this vantage point, Blair saw a familiar blue and white truck pulling into the parking space next to the Volvo, and also saw several shadowy figures gathering around the walkway from the parking lot to the hall. The conversation before the fight the night before came back to Blair in a rush. "...big faggot boyfriend to protect you..." Jim. They knew who Jim was, but probably not that he was a cop. Not that these jerks would care. 

Only frozen for a moment, Blair turned and ran for his backpack, scanning the room for a weapon of any kind. A rather large display shelf drew his attention, and as he found his cell phone, he grinned in anticipation. 

* * *

When Jim looked up, he was back in the loft. The only thing that surprised him about that was the fact that it didn't surprise him. "Too used to weird things happening," he muttered, collapsing back on the couch. 

He realized with a start that his senses were mostly back on-line, although muted. His heart still hammered in his chest though, and if Sandburg were there, he'd tell Jim to meditate. If Sandburg were there, he'd have a cup of tea for him and a calming hand on Jim's neck. If Sandburg were there... Jim would be able to figure out how to apologize for saying and doing such shitty things. If Sandburg were there, they'd be able to resolve everything. 

If Sandburg were there. But he wasn't; he had stormed out of the loft and driven off to someplace... some place else. 

"Rainier. He went back to campus." Jim said this out loud, slowly, knowing \-- somehow -- that this was so. And remembering Rainier was infested with those nutcases. Damn. 

Rising from the couch, he began to pace much as his lover would. He didn't know if he should go or not -- he knew -- intellectually, anyway \-- that Blair was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. In the end, what decided the matter was his agony at the idea that he might lose his guide again. Pulling himself up straighter, he thought -- then said aloud, as firmly as he was able -- "I'll do whatever I have to do. He's my Guide." Slipping on his jacket and snagging his keys from the basket, Jim opened the door and nearly ran down the stairs to his truck. 

Although it was tempting to put his siren on and race to campus, Jim managed to hold back. He used the time en route to think, to attempt to come to terms with himself and how he felt -- which was difficult enough for him normally, he reflected ruefully. 

He was angry at Blair for being away. There was more to it than that, though. He was angry that Blair was teaching, which was taking him away from Jim's side, but even more he was angry that Blair was away from Jim and _happy_. He should be miserable, as miserable as Jim was, but instead, he was happily teaching and loving every minute of it. Therefore, Blair would rather be teaching instead of with Jim. 

Which, of course, made no sense whatsoever. Blair would not ever leave Jim, not for teaching, not for anything. They had promised each other. Just as they had promised to talk more often, Jim winced, remembering. 

Well, he'd keep one of the two promises, at least. 

Pulling into the faculty parking lot, Jim drove into the spot next to the boxy green car and turned off the engine. So he wasn't faculty; he had an in with Campus Police and wasn't worried. Before he could even remove the key from the ignition, voices caught his attention. 

"Who the hell is that?" 

"Who the hell cares? Let's just get that little fag and go home. I'm cold." 

Suddenly, Jim felt a chill too. Climbing out of the cab of the truck, he pocketed his keys and zipped up his coat, looking warily about. Hargrove was right ahead of him, looming in the darkness, and with his sight dialed up he could see several shapes heading towards it. Heading toward Blair. 

Listening intently, he strode down the path that led to the hall. 

"Shit, he's coming this way." 

"Wait. It's the fag's boyfriend! Two for one, man, you gotta love it." 

"Yeah. C'mon." 

Jim slowed down, lingering under one of the sodium-vapor lamps lighting the path, letting the thugs get a good glimpse of him. A flash of light from Hargrove made him glance up to see Blair's face at a window, and he smiled -- without really understanding why. 

The group of seven young men was moving in around him in a loose ring; using his hearing he kept track of those that moved in behind him while he smiled. "Hello, boys. A bit late for little kids to be out, isn't it?" 

"You're the one out late, queer boy," the one closest to him said. "Get him." 

The ring closed in and suddenly Jim was in the middle of it. Sidestepping gracefully, he avoided blows and ran two of the gang into each other, silently thanking any deity listening that his assailants apparently knew nothing about real fighting. Then one got in a lucky blow to his middle and he whuffed, bending over, which allowed a kick to connect with his shoulder. 

Not out of it yet, Jim spun around, bringing his foot up to connect solidly with what he thought was a chin. He felt the presence of another behind him, but before he could turn, a familiar, much-loved voice yelled, "Ellison! Drop!" 

Without a thought, Jim went down to his hands, hearing, as he did, something whistle through the air where his head had been and connect to something else with a resounding THWACK. Immediately jumping to his feet, he saw whoever had been trying to get the drop on him lying on the ground, out for the count, and an exuberant Sandburg wielding a -- what the hell _was_ that? A bat? 

"You okay, man?" Blair gasped, jabbing at one of the attackers with whatever he was holding. 

"I am now," Jim replied, a bit breathlessly, but grinning. They put their backs together and met the enemy. 

Seven -- well, six, now -- against two should have been a rout, but when the team of Sandburg and Ellison was moving well, nothing could stand against it. Jim didn't even bother to draw his gun -- which, he remembered later, he had actually left at the loft. Rather than running as they saw their numbers dwindling, the young men apparently grew incensed and attacked harder, making more mistakes, leaving themselves open. 

As wailing sirens closed in to campus, Blair found himself face to face with Reese's boyfriend once again. The man was obviously worse for wear, having met up with Jim's fist a few times. He snarled at Blair, hatred shining in his eyes, and Blair grinned back. "Man, you are _so_ having a bad week," Blair murmured as he swung and connected. Mr. Muscle-Shirt went down like a sack of potatoes, and it was over. 

Jim turned around as he heard a crack, and saw Blair standing over the last of the attackers. The piece of wood in his hands appeared to be broken. "Oh, man, Eli's gonna kill me," he muttered, examining the thing. On closer inspection, Jim determined with a laugh that it was a frat paddle, covered with signatures, and now cracked almost in two. 

As campus and Cascade police converged on the scene, the two men looked around at the carnage they had wreaked. Jim's eyes met Blair's over the bodies of seven moaning, bloody young men, lying on the cold, wet ground. Simultaneously, they extended a hand to each other, grasping tightly, whispering "I'm sorry" over and over. 

"Ellison! Sandburg!" A familiar bellow brought them back to themselves, but they did not let go. "What the _fuck_ have you two done now?" 

* * *

Neither of them got out of the fight unscathed. Jim had a lovely bruise on his shoulder and a matching ache in his solar plexus; the fight had also opened up the cut on his palm, which was aching. Blair's knuckles were scraped bloody, and he now had a cut above his _left_ eye, the one without the shiner. After the cops mirandized the fighters (the ones still conscious) and had the unconscious ones taken off by ambulance, the party was moved to the PD. Suzanne Tomaki and two of her cops came along, to identify and question suspects, as well as to meet the chancellor and president. 

When Chancellor Konoe and President Franklin arrived in Major Crime, the bullpen had aspects of a circus. Blair and H were examining the frat paddle to see if it was salvageable with a peanut gallery of other officers. Franklin was morose, his expression hangdog; Konoe appeared to be nervous but happy, and spotted Blair with some alarm. 

She called out to him as she hurried across the bullpen. "Blair! Good heavens, are you all right?" 

Her question set off a cacophony of voices, all trying to explain at once. Blair, H, Rafe, Suzanne, her two officers; even Joel got into the act and he was merely working late. Finally, Simon's bellow cut through the noise and silenced everyone. "All right people, I am running a police department, not an encounter group! Chancellor Konoe, I presume?" he said, engulfing her delicate hand in his huge paw. "I'm Captain Banks. It's good to meet you finally." 

"Captain," she smiled up at him. "I've heard so much about you. This is President Franklin; we're here because Suzanne called and said something about a riot?" 

As Simon escorted the two university officials into his office, explaining the difference between a fight and a riot, Jim joined Blair and H at Blair's desk. He was fresh from making his statement to IA -- Blair having already made his -- and had a wad of wet paper towels from the break room. Perching Blair on the corner of the desk, he proceeded to dab at the cut above his eye, wiping dried blood away carefully. Blair suffered his attention with good grace, smiling gently -- sadly -- into his face. 

"Jim, you're good with wood," Henri said, shaking his head over the paddle. "What do you think?" 

Glancing at it, Jim shook his head. "I don't know, H. A little glue, a couple of brads; it'll still be broken." 

"Eli is gonna _kill_ me," Blair repeated ruefully. His partner chuckled as he tossed the used paper towels in the trash. 

"Nah, Chief, it's a battle souvenir. He'll be sorry he missed the Charge of the Sandburg Brigade riding to the rescue." 

Hearing Jim's honest admiration and pride behind the teasing, Blair had to swallow back a lump of emotion. "We done good, didn't we, partner?" he asked softly. 

Jim's face was wide open, shining with such love that it could have lit up a city block. "Yeah. We did. Finally." he murmured in reply, gently caressing Blair's cheek with the back of his knuckles. 

After a moment, the two of them became aware of a third person watching them. Jim turned to look into Rafe's eyes -- which were troubled. 

"Uh, booking called, Jim," he said hesitantly. "They're all processed, even the ones in the ER." 

"Thanks, Rafe," Jim said quietly. "It's your bust, you know. You and H were the ones working it. We just happened to, uh, get caught in the middle." 

Henri snorted. "You and your fists, man. And Hairboy's bat!" 

"It's a _paddle_ , H," Blair said pedantically. "Something yo'momma should have introduced to yo'backside more often!" 

Laughing, Henri punched Blair lightly in the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, talk to the hand, Hairboy, cause the ears ain't listening!" Jim chuckled as Henri continued. "Seriously, man, you didn't have any problems with IA, did you? Or you, Sandburg?" 

Blair shook his head as Jim shrugged. "No more than usual," Jim said for the both of them. "I think I'm actually glad this was the one time in my life I left my piece at home." 

Joel, Henri, Rafe and Blair all boggled. "You left your _gun_ at _home_?" Blair asked, disbelieving. 

"Damn, Ellison," Henri said, incredulous. 

"So that's why he didn't drop it," Blair laughed, and got another punch in the arm for his trouble. 

"I guess there's a first time for everything," Joel muttered, putting on his coat. "I'm out of here, guys. Good night." 

As Joel was sent off with cheerful calls and waves, Jim noticed that Rafe hovered nearby. He looked as though he wanted to say something more -- to Jim or to Blair -- but was having a tough time getting it out. Jim lifted one eyebrow in question to him. 

Rafe smiled thinly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just wanted to say," he said, speaking low, "that I know. That you haven't changed. Either of you. And I'm sorry it took me this long to realize it." 

Touched, Jim smiled and held out his hand. "Thanks, Rafe." 

Only hesitating for a second, Rafe took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "It's -- it still feels kind of uncomfortable to me," he admitted, "but I'll get over it." 

"'Bout fucking time," Henri grumbled, grabbing his partner by the upper arm. "C'mon, GQ, we got some little boy student butt-kicking to do. Later guys!" 

* * *

There were things that needed to be said, but they were better left unsaid until Jim and Blair reached home. And then, of course, there were things that had to be done before things could be said. But finally, well after midnight -- after the reports, and the interviews, and the adrenaline, and Konoe's thanks, and Franklin's relief that his daughter would be fine, and bandages applied -- finally, they faced each other across the loft. 

"I would guess that we ought to talk, huh," Jim said softly, restlessly re-folding the afghan on the back of the sofa. 

"I think we're a little late for that," Blair admitted sadly. 

Swallowing heavily, Jim just replied, "Yeah." After a few minutes, he tentatively reached out, taking a step that put him close enough to Blair to touch. Blair let himself be grasped by the shoulder and tugged forward, so that they were drawn together into a loose embrace. Overhead, rain began falling on the skylight. 

Swallowing hard, refusing to look into Jim's face, Blair said, "Maybe... maybe I should sleep down here tonight." 

Stifling an instant negation, Jim tried to talk normally. "Is... that what you want?" 

Blair rested his forehead against Jim's shoulder. "No," he finally whispered. "But I'm not sure we should... Because of... We -- I -- I mean..." 

"Yeah, I know," Jim interrupted softly when Blair seemed to have trouble with his mouth. "We..." he swallowed. "We both said some pretty rotten things tonight." 

"When we agreed to talk more, I don't think -- that was what we meant," Blair joked weakly. "I'm sorry, Jim." 

"I'm sorry too, Blair." 

"We're much better together than we ever would be apart, aren't we?" 

"Yes," Jim said, then realized with a start just how true that statement was. "Yes," he repeated, "we are. I know I've said this before, but it's true... I'm going to do my damnedest to talk more, Chief, I swear." 

"It's hard -- hard to believe you -- hard to believe we will..." Blair murmured. 

"I don't have a good track record here, I know," Jim agreed, his voice wavering with emotion. "All I can do is promise, and try. And I will." 

"Then I'll promise to do my damnedest to be more patient with you," Blair replied, admitting it to himself as much as to Jim. "We're too old to be playing these kinds of games." 

Jim nodded solemnly. "And in the morning, we're going to start talking. I told Simon not to expect me before noon. You've got classes?" 

"Not until ten," Blair confirmed. 

"Then... then come to bed -- our bed. To sleep. It's late, we're exhausted, and... Oh, shit. I need to hold you, Chief. And... I need you to hold me. It's hard... hard to..." 

"Hard to admit how much you need," Blair murmured, and Jim nodded jerkily, not trusting himself to speak. "I love you, Jim. More than I can say." 

"I love you too," Jim finally managed to choke out. "I never stopped, and never will." 

Arm in arm, they wearily climbed the steps to their bed. 

* * *

Rain pattered gently against the skylight of the loft apartment at 852 Prospect, and the morning light permeated the place with a gentle, dim glow. The two men in bed on the upper level lay entangled in the sheets and blankets -- the smaller with his face buried in his pillow, the larger on his side with one arm wrapped possessively around his lover. The smaller man shifted, turning and nestling himself against the larger, who merely wrapped his arms more securely around the other and fell, smiling gently, into a deeper sleep. 

On the table in the living room, a carved black jaguar and timberwolf stood together, protecting and supporting each other. 


End file.
